Kristen Brida

Ode to hiccups

after Artistophanes

O pink plated dome—
O contained stink,

unburrow and travel
pull tongued sound

until thought falls away
a tender and threaded meat

into glottal blot vowel stop
until body disciplines speech

I bound to an acid-leaked maw
body signals

some sour, unround sound

Selfie Sonnet

Let me count the ways I make my galleries
of tangos of all kindsa creases of face of no
-thing special. Let me pretend I can be
<                     > for once—a skin in reconcile
w/ light. Let me live in my center of fucking
plastic—all there, on some kind of isle
my body a landmark by a jet stream of garbage
& I hold a mirror where the forever garbage unfolds
forever & I’m there & a soup can cuts red in my side 

My dearly beloved        follower—here is the selfie,
its abject in its quiet linger. Here is my face—
please, peel back my eyelids & you will gloss the red
the silicone the <         >  the ephemeral iris
showcased through                  no prism of permanence