Clicking, Clicking, Clicking

Two poems
by Caseyrenée Lopez
my body is a false god
a make believe dreamscape
forcing itself into reality
my eyes are vacant canyons
mirrors of the vacuum above us
my arms are broken wings
made with solid bone and marrow
i’m a flightless bird
condemned to terrestrial life
my legs are muscles and tendons
and bones and veins and blood
supporting my hollow core
my feet are ribbons and beads
strung together
ramen noodles
clumped into curly knots
i’m dead inside
my body is a false god
soaking up sunlight
vitamins and minerals
strung together forming
the physical parts of me
my womb is empty
and crying
hunger pains
mock my uterus
my ovaries swell
and skip rocks across
the pond of
my menstrual blood
my body is a false god
i’m still dead inside
my womb is still empty
my arms are still broken wings
my feet are still knotted
ribbons crushed under
the weight of my expectations
body garden
you try to stop the clicking /
consuming echo that’s firmly
rooted itself / in-between your ears
on that empty plot of land / called
your corpus callosum
every time you think you’ve won
the battle / it rears its ugly head
& uproots itself / reminding you
that no matter what happens you’re
always going to be together
it’s many things / compressed into a
singularity / resting for an indeterminate
time / right behind the bridge
of your nose / it’s the unnerving
laugher / the clicking / the chipping
away / that forces you
to shed your skin every night /
turning you into a snake
with razor sharp ribs /
inching you closer to the
edge of the world / you
try to keep your balance /
try to steady your inept
feet from crumbling beneath you / but
you can’t / the clicking echo / the
root of all your pain is there /
clicking, clicking, clicking /
the sound / approximate
to a playing card in the spokes
of a bicycle tire /
you imagine the root
growing inward / forcing
the tree to impale / the soft grey matter
filling your skull cavity / & it hurts
you wish the tree would
fill another cavity / you
wish the clicking echo
would root itself in / the lining
of your womb / but it won’t /
your doctor told you
that your uterus is suspended
in air / overhanging
the canyon of your pelvis
it’s a space most people don’t have
“only about 15-20% of people
with uteruses have this gully
but it’s very good news for babies”
Caseyrenée Lopez is a non-binary queerfemme atheist living in the Deep South. They write their pain as poems, & in addition to editing Crab Fat Magazine, run TQ Review & Damaged Goods Press in an effort to platform marginalized writers/artists, particularly queer and trans folks. Their first chapbook of poems, QueerSexWords, was published by Yellow Chair Press in April 2016. Follow them on Twitter @caseyreneelopez.

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Scott Thomas Outlar hosts the site where links to his published poetry, fiction, essays, interviews, reviews, and books can be found. He is a Best of the Net and three-time Pushcart Prize nominee. Scott's poetry books include: Songs of a Dissident (Transcendent Zero Press, 2015), Chaos Songs (Weasel Press, 2016), Happy Hour Hallelujah (CTU Publishing, 2016), and Poison in Paradise (Alien Buddha Press, 2017). Scott is a member of The Southern Collective Experience; he also serves as an editor for Walking Is Still Honest Press, The Blue Mountain Review, The Peregrine Muse, and Novelmasters.

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