Body Horror

poetry
  To keep them trapped, the doomed office workers’ heads are rigged to explode. It makes sense in that movie-logic way—   bombs masquerading as trackers, some vague lie about…

Dear Burglar,

poetry
  You must have thought I was a junkie. Syringes everywhere. Upturned biohazard box. My bed, thanks to you, a graveyard of blunted needles. This is the second time you’ve…