Butter

I feel ugly I feel grapevine the root vole-bitten stratosphere of earths. I feel static glitch of black and white mixed; a visual grey called snow. I feel hum of AC; what is the way to say the sound a fan makes. I feel transparent and seen as such mustered malform misstep. I feel an exit and I feel I should take it. This pull to a new side entire where I can be what I am; so little butter over so much bread. I tolerate temptation to bench myself permanent. No one wins. I feel beautiful as this new chrysalis; I emerge / flatter flut; I dry off from birth.

Pansy

I don’t think
I say anything

a bunch of nothing
a bouquet of black pansy

fear of that which you do
or don’t want to have sex with

I turn myself
over
dark wet

the rock face
can contain
any thing

I whisper into it

No Vine

we the breathing universe

the way time rots
& has yet to get sweeter
no vine
to keep it alive

I am curious about plant growth

I want this sun medicine
to keep me
from falling asleep in the bath
to help me cross a river

after a long period of silence

I am trying to enter

all creatures are compelled
to be alone
and to be together

Nathan Wade Carter

Nathan Wade Carter is a queer, grey-a poet, musician, and artist living in Portland, OR. His poetry can and will be found in Heavy Feather Review, Horse Less Press, Fog Machine, Powder Keg Magazine, The Fem, and others. He is editor and founder of SUSAN / The Journal. He writes and performs songs under the name Purrbot.

Photograph by Christie MacLean

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