I have never had a mother, or, no longer have or, once did, briefly, for a day or two. Perhaps she was only mine during the wet crown of hours I spun my skull through her ripe & widening cunt, then fastened to her nipple— a...
Author - Rachel McKibbens
the last time
I did it alone. Not in bed where I’d willed myself dead for so many years I became apparition not in the bathroom where I fed my body to a hungry blade & cut down my hair with a match. It was not in the arms of the man I tried over & over to...
fusillade for my mother’s brain
You spoiled mound complicated by static you skull-born satellite launched from a splintered mirror you doom-hatched agony steady as piss you childless guilt scorched in fog you blazing delirium un-teaching my name you sideshow daydreamer...
dead radio apostle
Heels in stirrups, knees pitched above my hips, I am blinded by every measured breath required before each push— a cold, unnatural discipline. I was taught to focus on something in the room, to distract from the hell-rigged pain knifing me from the...
Six Questions for Rachel McKibbens
Six Questions editor Christine Mallon caught up with Rachel McKibbens recently to ask her about her poems in Scoundrel Time, all of which will appear this fall in blud. What follows is a sneak-peak into that volume. Scoundrel Time: In “the...