[Poetry | Issue 10]

Anthony alegrete

immolation

I wrap my tongue in spider silk,
allowing the smoothness to numb me.
Last night I had nightmares of eight-legged thoughts.
Does that mean that peace is found
when each leg is torn apart, like chopsticks
or kindling? Each broken leg oozes poison; my brain becomes
fire,
my head nest, fear stockades like a spider's nest,
the eggs never stop hatching. They make a home of me until all I feel
are chills. When I become accustomed to the scurrying inside my limbs,

I am left with a corpse of cobwebs.
Remembering when this body teemed with life,
wondering which was better,
then deciding, that isn't my place to say.

 __________

About the author

Anthony Alegrete (he/him) is a Japanese American poet and writer writing from Orange County, California. He is enrolled in Chapman University’s MFA in Creative Writing program. His work has previously been published in 805 lit+art and The Santa Clara Review. You can find him on Instagram: @alegrete_writes