Kari A. Flickinger
I want out of this
underscored, scoured self
that widens her waist, and watches
the days slip into nights into days, like one haze
of popcorn-induced synesthesia
I'm seeing the color of sound.
I want to beat the notes
out of my purple brain—
wriggle through the
meddled, muddled flesh
like a stone worm, eating
you out of me, delicately
until the bruised bits reach some normalcy.
I want out of the men in my past
who believed I was
damaged by this brain-worm—goods
not worth the buy—bye to them.
Flick my wrist to inflict the peace
the ever-loving fishes from shower
doors—make them forget the flesh.
Help them to remember we're
sound under all this mass.
Kari A. Flickinger's poetry and short stories have been published in or are forthcoming from Written Here: The Community of Writers Poetry Review, Panoply, MilkJournal, Susurrus, The Daily Californian, and The DVC Inquirer. She studied English at UC Berkeley.