Three Poems

Cavin Bryce Gonzalez

Been taking a lot of walks lately.
Just something to keep my mind busy.
It’s easy for me to forget the world exists.
Most trees still look like cellophane.
On my latest walk I stumbled across a dead armadillo.
There was a slit in its stomach that leaked entrails.
I remembered an article about a guy who hid in a camels corpse to stay warm.
He said it was surprisingly cozy.
I love being cozy but I couldn’t fit inside the armadillo.
Instead of crawling inside it, I slipped my hand through the slit and wore the corpse like a glove.
The maggots inside felt exactly like a cat burying its whiskers in my palm.
And I saw a painting the other day.
This painting convinced me that I wanted to die on the highway between two mountains.
Just seems right, you know?

The only trophy I ever won was a chuckle that you left at the foot of my bed.
Tell me that you want to see my face one more time.
Then, when you do, tell me that I am unrecognizable.
Take sandpaper to every one of my orifices.
Turn me into one giant gaping hole and pour yourself into it.
Or maybe just pour in some kerosene and use my emptiness as a way of extinguishing everything you never hated.

Sorry to say, but you can’t trust me.
I have dropped too many vases on purpose.
The way they shatter is so enthralling.
I'll lick your ice cream cone while you’re in the bathroom.
Even if you’re being mean, I won’t say so.
When I tell you it’s okay, I'm lying.
This is all because I love you.
Trust me, it’s because I love you.
I promise.

Cavin Bryce Gonzalez founded Back Patio Press. He lives in Florida with his dog. You should buy his debut story collection, 'I Could Be Your Neighbor, Isn't That Horrifying?' or, if not, at least buy a book from some indie writer somewhere. All support to the craft really makes a difference.