Copyright 2018


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.