Krystal Languell: Five Poems

Sense

 

The plots are: loss, gain, or new friend. All man vs. himself.

I am in search of who will watch me do my tricks.

What do you do when you’re not getting stressed out.

Tell me to let the knife do the work. Begin an idea.

So punk I can’t spell descendants right the first time.

It is severe and coincidence. A new season for new phase.

Lots of people have bad teachers so I’m not doing any harm.

Minor celebrity cameo. Where are they now. What are they.

 

 

Snag

 

At or above your level. I have a level. Isn’t that true.

The water would feel good until it knocked you down.

The genre is inspiration. Because home is precarious.

If vanity is wrong, I don’t want it anyway. I’m not pretty.

Keep your self to yourself because I have plenty.

Another nakedness scenario that wasn’t meant to be.

We’re on my calendar so get off your man-rag. I said.

Get your hands off my agenda and back on my ass.

 

 

Hydraulic

 

Kitty litter soaks up the oil so the cords can skate under.

The lift takes my car up overhead and the wheels come off.

Two men removing the rear brake pads at the same time.

I feel spoiled. They sit me in front of an industrial fan.

A talk show is on over my shoulder. I’m texting my dad.

A strut versus a shock—one is a spiral. You’re laughing.

He said learn a little every time. Cash only, no sales tax.

Told my dad the A/C is blowing good. Walk to the ATM.

 

 

Over/Under

 

Man in the kitchen said he adds his own minerals.

The facts make me sad. Backchannel me if interested.

Send them down the escalator. Boy, girl, twins, triplets.

And then, do you consider your life easy. It’s moon day.

Full thunder. Confess I got on the highway too soon.

Drop the sparkler in the empty tequila bottle to be safe.

When I remember death, I’m relieved. That’s the good news.

I found a bruise on my tattoo and thought it was rubbing off.

 

 

Suspect

 

O identifiers, a girl on the outs. Fraction in foggy glass.

A heat episode, in need of help. I made her sing answers.

In a gallery space, at the top of a ladder, some fragile art.

You freak someone out on purpose, it’s a chain reaction.

He’s jealous I’m a good sleeper. I never thought about it.

My uterus throbs, threatens. Goes back to being forgettable.

O the signified, the up and up. By not replacing I save.

Back in the city what is there to do but spend. Get jealous.

 

 

krystalKrystal Languell is part of the Belladonna* Collaborative and edits the journal Bone Bouquet. She is the author of Call the Catastrophists (BlazeVox, 2011) and her work has appeared inesqueLa FoveaDIAGRAM and elsewhere. She is a Visiting Assistant Professor at Pratt Institute and a 2013 Emerge Surface Be fellow at The Poetry Project.

 

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