Concept: land in my mouth, the tongue a soft decay;
If you tremble against the inside of my cheek
I will be a bale of hay, a train car running. With enough
dirt we will find a way for me to live in the darkest
parts of this country.
Concept: an article that states every spider in the world
could consume us within a year and the world says
What are you waiting for? What is the hold up?
My saliva hair is waiting to be consumed
before I disappear.
I close my weapon against a feast, and for me it is
not so strange for the sun to forget where I lay.
Concept: a 2006 study classifies me as vulnerable
and I can only think,
My mouth is full of my own hair, I sense your fingers run through
the alleyway of throat to close my neck from within.
Society has a way of being a Midas touch of death,
and I do not speak for the following year, until everyone
is looking at my lips, is salivating.
Concept: name me in a way that you would name a painting
or flow of river, the type of dirt the sun hasn’t seen.
Look at my mouth and the way I think words exit me;
is mouth exit-wound or tunnel? Those unalike
pass through me.
Concept: it is a myth that touching me will kill me,
it is not an entire death just erasure.
You will have to cut my head off to figure out
the way a mouth like this can open at all.
Alain Ginsberg (they/them) is an agender writer and performer from Baltimore City, MD whose work focuses on narratives of gender identity, sexuality, and mental health and they ways in which trauma informs and skews those narratives. Their work has been featured or is forthcoming from The Account, Metatron, Queen Mob’s Tea House (Queen of Pentacles), and elsewhere. Outside of writing Alain has been described as a mixologist on yelp, and is always surprised by their thigh muscles. They are a Taurus.