the echo is mine—the blood is wrong and it is also
mine. I use my set of lungs, thawed with splatter-movie.

oh you dumb stud-bucket, you Billy-boy, shithead with
a blade. I’ll draw blood—from end to end, prick open your

scrotum, extract viscera, stuff you with Jiffy Pop, your rind
supple like my White Adidas leather upper. my carpal

bone welted from the jab, give me a cold compress
and let’s boogie, the hoodie trussed around my pubis.

you say you have a ‘thing’ for me—so does everybody,
every body where blood is found—woozy gut, throbs

like a video cassette, that lurching, that spasm,
a glinted ribbon culled out of its casing.

Emily Corwin is currently an MFA candidate in poetry at Indiana University-Bloomington and the former poetry editor of Indiana Review. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Black Warrior Review, Gigantic Sequins, New South, Yemassee, THRUSH, and elsewhere. She has two chapbooks, My Tall Handsome (Brain Mill Press) and darkling (Platypus Press), which were published in 2016. Her first full-length collection, tenderling, was just released from Stalking Horse Press.