Psychopink | Giana Angelillo

$ 7.00

 

Giana Angelillo’s work has appeared in Winter Tangerine Review, Lavender Review, & elsewhere. Currently hiding in Illinois, she likes to buy flowers for her friends. 

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Fever

I run through, strawberry.
All perfect, pink stilettos are yours

& discarded to God. Like being born,
or in his child-strewn alley, homicide.

The white sequin, the lexicon of
perfume, & me, God’s back-alley bitch.

Tethered to a hand by
a throat. I could salvage nothing.

I could not foam like a pretty witness.
I could not take bread

the way they wanted me to. Remarkable
girl, a plea of heaven, to reside in

saturated fat, the buoyant, yellow artery,
unlike I have known it as a junky,

when I would stick the syringe in &
get so excited I

pushed heroin into that dark cheek.
Tha yolk veils me as a nursemaid,

I am contained. Within a wish
under my skin, the daisy-pale

Canal of me & my love for the stick;
All the women I have been & could be—

—None have I been so delicious,
Prime cut of cunt, & king of

Anorexics, & best at every-fuckin-thing.
Especially the junkhood, the glamour

Bank-heist of bein a death-walk,
Each morning on the street for a killer

where the kills are coddled &
escorted onto large, open stovefaces.

Burn. Burn. Burn.

Then at night dissolving too easy into
some tall glass of water.

I am so like a man with my scrap
metal palace, & my cheap wants,

My highs in the kid kingdom
are miraculous, & infinite, and my
vaults of heaven—desperate, like any

fuck that can be bought, what it lacks
in holiness it supplies in derangement.

I will be a big-breasted & black-eyed
Beauty, & I will be on all your screens,

wanton summers, so manufactured,
as buttercream & plastic surgery could

make. The laws of bad Lov have
wrung me & set me over tha sink.

I will be ecstasy-easy, easy
My violet valentine is owed me, &

I will not be denied a second time.