<nite out>

syringe brains
have their queen
of jazz //
“smells of rotted
he wailed into
velvet curtains,
“be dainty!”
“eloquate the filthy!”

retrospect must be
seeing how we’ve failed
again betraying
magnetically vulgar
deviled nerves to
gorge on an
admirable limp //

his suggestion

cross stitch
my anxieties
into floral hems’
calloused current //
“a sunless merger
sprinkling bones in
ham sandwiches,”
he promised


<nightgown assassin>

forget fantasy //
hers was a sensuality
of stinking bones

a vague suggestion //
repugnant cheeked elixir
taken from frozen glass

cut between teeth on the
sweet fog terrace
amongst hospital filth //
admiring the
rotting magic

dragging syringes behind heavy steps
she wondered how to hypnotize
the gallows waitress //

“a window of perfect awful
is the slipstream i face
shirtless + charming”

our nightgown assassin

fearless and pick fleshed
sought out
sore kisses of
unkind nobility
before smashing vials into
hip corners and
quietly curling into the
western sky


<ant farm>

quiet fuzz like
ants in clear glass or the
small of my lover’s back
that love/thatch
i dropped my ear
into the crook
of an eager elbow
just to watch the
rows gnash themselves
into bone scented
powder //
sometimes i’m sleeping
when they fall
or stick hungrily
suckling puppies to a
wet wound
lap up the yellow rim


Sara Matson has her MA in Literature from Northeastern Illinois University. She shares her Chicago apartment with her amazing husband and their three young boys, who all happen to be cats. Her work can be found or is forthcoming in Occulum, Dream Pop Press, Snapdragon Journal, Waxing and Waning, Typishly, and her mother’s refrigerator. Sara Matson self-published her first chapbook, corporeal sin in 2014, and her second chapbook, electric grandma is forthcoming in 2018. She tweets as @skeletorwrites.