Two Poems

Sara Matson


pinched hiemal décor
black lacquer electric
accordion        slapped like a base
+ similarly useful (only when plugged in)
skull slingshot               cradle as
final wish // eternal prank
how many people do i know
who would drink my blood
to save a life
clots + all

i am a firesale flying toaster dumpster squad car hurling
out the passenger (ejector) seat           printed
safety card for microwaves    ////    pen scratch that will be sent into space
a modern starship

no, more modern   ////   post mortem module modem modernity
roving eyes scratched the back of the scapula
w/broken lipstick tubes but
expected            (perfunctory)
during this
                  infecund season of
frigid russian literature
  1980s operatics
color changing mittens
  waring stars                  pinprick splits in the cheesecloth (noir)
dusty mountains of nutmeg cardamom orange cinnamon cloves
( jesus christ the cloves )

but even now nearer 40              i didn’t expect it to be
this sexy                               ///
burgundy velvet choker endlessly rolling          an insatiable tongue

line up necessary gasses
push too hard with a twenty dollar pen
(push into the paper)
steel back           boring culture
the stink of desperation // the fantasy of advanced decay
from opaque eyed birds labored breathing
single crusty nostril      squalling each breath to dispersal
sleeping breaths gliding under door of awake body
made still w/                  different words
an incantation               voiceless
behind stringed instruments
made to look like a piano

i press my face to wallpaper
the texture of fruitskin
scenic-scented yogurt slathered the ceiling
spoon dripping to frosted sill
(old milk in beard smell)
                            hands for scissors
i dreamwatch infinite snowflakes
crash into plastic flowers +
roll in spicy dirt
extra long single hair stuck to wet skin
dirty fingers on the tongue gagging i can’t
get it off            can’t touch a nightmare

barren w/ child             hood trauma +
driven w/ pink cadillac pride
i spit my name              (an acronym)

into the snow

< post office translations >

mail which i made
                               a stone + a scream
                               in coma of some kind
                               staccato                coyote mail

no, it is coyote mail

:::memory override:::

some people read
in public school libraries
                in green silk gowns
                on hand scented parchment
                rolled + ribboned
to soft leather booted boys w/
braided tail
caught in dusty meadow
like a horse’s asshole
winking + laughing to the

sound of ocean
                               (gulls, splashing, synthesizers, etc.)
surrounded in stars
clouds or nuclear decay
train running w/
sticky legs
orange to teal
yellow to cerulean
knowledge         hats of peculiar sizes

:::memory override:::

+ there were great ships
crashing              waves, rocks
seasickness for generations
of unnaturally blonde mothers
horns announcing glorious
arrivals orators sharing w/

glee bursting       a golden banner
while satellites fall from orbit
in spectacular explosions
paper 3D glasses
encasing each event in
natural glass

+ grimy

Sara Matson’s poetry has been nominated for Best of the Net 2019 + can be found or forthcoming in The Journal Petra, Bone Bouquet, Pink Plastic House: A Tiny Journal, and elsewhere. Sara’s chapbook, electric grandma is available from Another New Calligraphy and her chaplet, Forgotten: Women in Science is available from Damaged Goods Press. Sara lives in Chicago with her rad husband + cats, and Tweets as @skeletorwrites. More of Sara Matson’s poems can be found at