By FELICE BELLE
these biddies with their deadbolt backs/ take naps
while i construct/ canvas from corset cast
art does not wait until you are well
what they did not understand—the training was classical
chopin, motherfuckers/ carry on like she some backwater bluesy
least common denominator/ reduced me
addiction is not a hobby
no one will hear what i see/ unless they inhabit my body
surgeons don’t count/ the wrong lover, maybe
muse is reality
want more than you’re given/ be difficult as necessary
loving a man/ who belongs to the world/ is like lying in lava
no one asks if he can/ have it all
let him knock you down/ throw you up
against the wall/ put a frame on it
i don’t want the preacher/ i want the pulpit
Felice Belle is a poet and playwright. Her debut collection, Viscera, is forthcoming from Etruscan Press. She is a lecturer in the low-residency MFA program at St. Francis College in Brooklyn and chief storyteller for the global nonprofit Narrative 4.
