Neuteragonist
Weakling touched,
mice and rabbits writhe
around seeing your fortune.
They were instructed to tell
you to close your eyes tight
and start running.
You offered blood,
they didn’t want blood.
Into the street–
without blood.
No mock sacrifices,
no mock release,
no mock certain satan.
Easy sting, easy needle
through easy eye.
Your moppetic flecked face alive
to watch. To watch–
to take that away
without blood.
Welter Skelter
Caustic wunderkindling on your way,
and further exploration will
not be rewarded.
First as slapstick
then again as slapstick,
paratroopers landing
in wells.
Prodigal Modernity
You get drawn down,
the world gets dimmer,
stye in your eye from that
bad meat in the pig pen.
He turned his back and you disappeared.
He had his ten paces, you took your fifty side steps.
And in the end, everybody got to live.
You need your money to give it away
for potions, hookers, transportation.
This world is so small and you gamble to see the lights.
You think too much to come back home
and laugh in the face of “brotherhood.”
You have different ideas about celebration.
Sometimes you fight hard for it
but most of the time it’s good to go.
Worms as wherewithal,
even they turn.
Jessica Brazell is an undergraduate in creative writing at the University of Central Oklahoma. Her twitter is @JessicaFBrazell.
Angel Rust 