Me on my island, cartwheels and litmus
a waterbed lit up like radium.
Your ship is trash, you boys on my hit list
but I’ll float you on cream and valium.
My diamond nose bleeds, my palace is soap
and I can’t make a cowboy stay late.
But souffles still rise, we’ll smoke all my dope
disappear under Elvis and ice skates.
See how my lips spred with saxophone dew
how they suckle the sun cult of maybe.
I’d like to die if it feels good to you
then wake up and still carry your baby.
In threaded morning you’ll fade in degrees
I’ve got the cam here, in case you miss me.
Kayleigh Norgord is an MFA graduate of the University of California Davis, where she won the Graduate Writing Prize in poetry. Her work has appeared in The Potomac Review, Harpur Palate, Storm Cellar and others. She is the recipient of a Writing by Writers fellowship and lives in California.