TWO SONNETS

L Scully

photorealism

It’s our last night in America. It’s
whatever, my pussy isn’t vegan.
I hate how warm you get while you’re asleep.
Dreaming about deer, I am someone’s
emergency. We founded a movement!
It is called Save Women From Babies and
we’re all contract workers, non-exempt.
Radicalism spread across the land,
I’m eating you out with your blood as thick
as berry preserves. Agrarian… sex.
The dog mimes whipped-cream-licking at my feet.
Animals give birth so young, they’re cousins
with their moms. Anyone who doesn’t need
a passport can have one. That’s a promise.

stockroom syndrome

There is a rabbit to my right. Nipple
level. No life in the town of Asbestos,
Quebec, the bluebells too must be mirage.
Truck window, parking lot: Princess on board.
I want to go home and hang a poster
of doors on my door. We’re beyond satellite.
You think I’m a little broken for my views
on Sigourney Weaver’s bush. Perhaps
I’m feministic, above you. No, I’m
trying to throw you off my search history.
Bad service. I listen to air. Churchyard
made of poison, keep the fam together.
Give me a psychological bandaid,
I’m no better than anyone on Earth.

L Scullyis a living writer. They wrote Self-Romancing from DOPAMINE Books LA. Proof of aforementioned claims @_caprihorny_ on IG and lscully.com.