Dylan Krieger

why's virus



sometimes I wake up in the funeral position

pecuniary feeling, like here, can I pay with my peeled skin?

maybe god is striking me with lightning every morning

maybe the fire in my eyelids is saying something



maybe in the vein of get behind me satan, skull’s wide open

watch how why’s virus keeps my séance privy to infection

waving its question mark privates and warming up stick pins

to fuck my fright just right in every one of its cerebral corners



note to the self, roar to the world: the lord is just another dirty bird

along the beach, caking on motor oil and dandelion seeds

must concoct another soular father for all you dead reflective

cells, must pull the tree burs from my blowup life and sighhhh