THAT GREMLIN, PLENITUDE, or: GOBLIN MARKET FOREVER!
I overdraw my bank account in line at Chipotle.
I overdraw my bank account beneath a goblinate sun.
I overdraw my bank account buying servants for my avatar
in Final Fantasy XIV Online: A Realm Reborn, and laugh for fifteen minutes,
bothering everyone.
I overdraw my bank account in front of the nicest guy
at the co-op, buying ground cherries on a whim,
with a blasting cap inside my tooth,
with my idiot fingers on my idiot heart.
I overdraw my bank account in beautiful West Chester, PA,
flanked by gorgeous Nissan Rogues
dancing with me on their hind legs like a helix unwinding
filmed from high up above,
fountains, fireworks
o wet marinade I improvise at midnight
turn my whole whatever into brine
the tasks I concoct to make my hull
feel useful, that
permanent gavotte
o steal me like batteries
back to the underworld
pig me out on goblin salad bar
mellify me to tasty surfeit,
o fuck me up like surplus justified,
o thing of utility
o thing afraid to die
o empty fist, o one-inch punch, while
you rack it up, I’m home
kickin it, your original Ms. Teen
Stealth Suit 2009
let the bills remind me
how vacant's the air beneath this carapace
how “lunch at my desk”
how “what a relief”
how easy thus to explain the needle and the loop,
the invisible hand I left smashed in the car door,
out of anger and forgetfulness, and look now,
that famous fly escaping like god
from a scooped out purse,
a single green shouting thing
to explode me
I overdraw my bank account beneath a goblinate sun.
I overdraw my bank account buying servants for my avatar
in Final Fantasy XIV Online: A Realm Reborn, and laugh for fifteen minutes,
bothering everyone.
I overdraw my bank account in front of the nicest guy
at the co-op, buying ground cherries on a whim,
with a blasting cap inside my tooth,
with my idiot fingers on my idiot heart.
I overdraw my bank account in beautiful West Chester, PA,
flanked by gorgeous Nissan Rogues
dancing with me on their hind legs like a helix unwinding
filmed from high up above,
fountains, fireworks
o wet marinade I improvise at midnight
turn my whole whatever into brine
the tasks I concoct to make my hull
feel useful, that
permanent gavotte
o steal me like batteries
back to the underworld
pig me out on goblin salad bar
mellify me to tasty surfeit,
o fuck me up like surplus justified,
o thing of utility
o thing afraid to die
o empty fist, o one-inch punch, while
you rack it up, I’m home
kickin it, your original Ms. Teen
Stealth Suit 2009
let the bills remind me
how vacant's the air beneath this carapace
how “lunch at my desk”
how “what a relief”
how easy thus to explain the needle and the loop,
the invisible hand I left smashed in the car door,
out of anger and forgetfulness, and look now,
that famous fly escaping like god
from a scooped out purse,
a single green shouting thing
to explode me
Holly Raymond is a PhD candidate at Temple University, back on her beeswax for the last time.