October 7, 2020
Gills desiccating, you glide through his house,
hair towel dried, Oxford shirt, slouched, secured
with belt made oversized dress — yours doused
in his tank, under duress. Damp, demure
while you saunter down bifurcated stairs,
some guests the servants were unaware, out
his front door then driveway, street. Unprepared —
Saunter through snapdragons, the cobblestone path
inside his house, into a bath prepared
with Dead Sea salts by a sociopath—
Continue reading “Womannotated – Dead Sea”
A tail can be manufactured
Neoprene, dragon skin silicone, urethane,
flukes customised &
sold to finfolk
lost@sea. Staccato tweets,
eyespots as strange as olives.
At work the dorsal fin separates
easily from the mould.
The mertailor’s apprentice eats.
Knife and fork
reveal flesh as pink as corned beef.
Afterwards, he skims the stock.
(His soup smells good in the pot.)
On weekends she’s a wish in a tank
satisfaction guarranteed,
will do small fry,
Are you real?
(Are you?) Continue reading “Professional Mermaid by Megan Dunn”
BURNING HOUSE PRESS 