H E R M E N E U T I C C H A O S J O U R N A L
Dear Red Apple
I bit you and you have stained my teeth in letters that spell forever, bedroom, sacrifice, and heat. I assumed this is a riddle and the answer is liminality. I protected you like a system of organs. A regular body must be fixed in tons and earth and pressure. I have dissected you like a pair of lungs, and your pinkflesh bubbles mark my hand in letters that spell conjugal, nail, spark, and orgone. I have assumed this is a riddle and the answer is spectacle. The answer is mask transitioning to face. To peel as feathers in the hands of augurs, an arrangement of strips. The answer is the hot diamond bottom of the bowl you sit in. You are the heat bitten. You are the heart beating in the blue-streaked light of the dance club.
Ryan Bollenbach is currently the poetry editor for the Black Warrior Review. His work can be read in Sixth Finch, Bayou, The Pinch Journal and elsewhere. He has work forthcoming in the Mid-American Review, Squalorly and Knee-Jerk Magazine. Find him on twitter at @SilentAsIAm.
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