F. Elliot

POETRY

Unlucky Omen

There’s something wicked
in the rhythm of your bones. They rattle
like the ocean while you sleep. They form
a chorus with their sundered glory.

Create a cask of holy water and fill it
with your sin. Give it a drink
when you find God at your doorstep.
Salvation is only for those who want it.

When the rain falls, you’ll feel it in your feet first.
It will creep up your body, dancing
with those fibers within which wind you up
and make you shout. It will settle in your hands

where chaos gets its name.
Sinister boy. Whipped handed boy.
Forgiveness is not an easy game.
Like chicken with a crossing guard.

Lessons in Exterior Design

I kept swallowing my tongue
so you cut it off and swallowed it for me

to save me my embarrassment.
Isn’t that what love is? Use

a carving knife on my many blights
and shape me into yet another

tchotchke for the mantle. Suspend
my soul by a candle’s wick — stick

me where my blood runs ripe.
it’s all the same anyways. Maybe

what matters is not the mouth
but what is built within it.

So I ask you to tell me
what you see

when you look at me:
a mouth of teeth or a mouth of fire?

F. Elliot is a queer Virginian writer. He was a reader for Blackbird and has a degree in English and a minor in creative writing. His work has previously been published by Pwatem and Last Leaves Magazine.

Next (Tina Quinn Durham) >
< Previous (Patrick T. Reardon)

Image: The Difficult Path by ₡ґǘșϯγ Ɗᶏ Ⱪᶅṏⱳդ, Public domain, via Flickr.com.