How To: | Human Things. | Last hour’s pen. | Burdens. By Amy Moretsele

Hollow out a loaf of bread
           Crawl inside
Wrap yourself in leaves of rocket, lettuce & baby
Lick salt off your fingers
           Stick your feet in honey socks
Sleep a little
           Wake up before the third cycle of REM
Perform cat pose, cow pose, corpse position
           Push your tongue against your teeth &
Punch through the ceiling of immaculate dough
           The crust yielding under knuckle a new maxim
 This is how you get over someone you could have loved

Human Things.
The shape of love;
yellow umbrella gathering dust.
Paper bag and styrofoam cup;
the crowd cheered so he punched the other guy.
Trash exports to someday fatburg cities -

                                        moonlanding of the first Earth refugee

Last hour’s pen.
Pandemonia of thoughts in the night-quiet, LED lights obscure the stars
a card game plays out with the deck inverted, hearts and spades and diamonds
the tens and kings and jokers, its new sovereignty
stare down into camera eyes long and you’ll see the subconjuvunctal haemorrhages of electrons, clickbait and cookies, plus and minus
my twenties roll on, a slow burn of late developments, the tardiness of convalescence

Dry skin wrinkles, cracks and
scatters tiny knife
undereye bags on anxiety
bags on worn-from-use bags
nights spent consuming
wondering why
life is so
& why the fuck Disney
makes it seem
so easy
the discordant babel
between my
fantasies &
really is irritating

Amy Moretsele is a daydreamer who writes for that sensation of easy-breathing following word vomit. Her work has appeared in Fly on the Wall Press, Dust Poetry Magazine and Re-Side Zine among others.