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  • Popshot Magazine

    JOIN THE MARCHES IF YOU ARE ABLE

    Nov 05, 2020 0 minutes
    Poem by Veronica Mattaboni
    Illustration by Connie Noble

    I don't make amy love what to dowith his body but his bonesare made of teacups & I keep picturingelbows at collarbone level, cocked& loaded like rubber bullets& rubber bullets& steel toed riot shields& shins in iron-creased bluepressing against porcelainporcelainporcelainI kiss his lips and try not to drinka ghost that doesn't existyet

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