I run my thumb over the scab on the inside of your elbow you flinch it’s only a few days healed
and say I know that urge to flush like a swollen river I want to know what brought it on for you
when I was a kid I remember seeing the magazines on the floor of our garage yes those kinds of
magazines I was alone read with the same urge I didn’t know to be ashamed to fear the succulent
rush hungers you see they’re not unlike other magazines the skin I saw and touched with
imagined tonguetips fingers and appetite could have been a ruin a distant planet a cell or a star.
-published on The Fem
Genelle Chaconas is hard at work on what they hope may be their first complete cross-genre
book tentatively titled Plague City; they’re unclear whether that makes it a novel, a book of
poetry, an art project, or an act of innate insanity. Their chapbook Fallout, Saints, and Dirty
Pictures (little m press, 2011) is currently out of print. They’re also hard at work on a nonfiction
book with their mentor B.L. Kennedy, and have also been involved with a collaboration with
Musiclandria in a performance at ArtStreet.
