Remi Recchia | I'm Sandcastled Sometimes, But Mostly Just Hungover

Remi Recchia is an MFA candidate in Poetry at Bowling Green State University, where he serves as Assistant Poetry Editor for the Mid-American Review and teaches Creative Writing. His work has appeared in or will soon appear in Old Northwest Review, Blue River Review, Front Porch, Gravel, Bottlecap Press, and Ground Fresh Thursday Press, among others.

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Also by Remi Recchia: Two Poems Two Poems All Accounts & Mixture

Previously in Glass: A Journal of Poetry: Orlando, Florida, 2016

March 2018
Ohio Poets

Remi Recchia

I'm Sandcastled Sometimes, But Mostly Just Hungover

The tracks are on my tongue, she said, and I am tired chameleoned and pressed by sunlit hands sorrow tree fall, so I said, wait, there's more, where did your father grow, and she said, feathers don't matter without the moon. If money is an abstract is a couch is a mouth, then I am three moths in a cookie cutter sworn in by ovens, lean and iron-guided milkshake, not a milkshake, a dead cow's swollen pink udders. No milk comes from starv- ation, Kate Moss jaywalking through space as her own fangirl, hips gyrating before Elvis because why keep time linear when you can re- cycle it like a spork without a spork like lungs drowned deep in Ophelia's heartbeat spitting out frog fluid delight. Closing time glows amber, she said, and I did not disagree, but I wanted to arrest the night because glued bones work better than band- aids and eyelashes are only sticky on the floor. How sad am I, she said, that he doesn't love me, and I said, why love when you can de- lineate, why mourn when mushrooms ready sit outside for plucking.

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