D A G U E R R E O T Y P E
In America’s farm towns, no one shuts up
About the lamb who limped its way
Back to the stockyard.
The field underneath
What it could want.
If only you knew how much sleep
Has sold us out.
How alive I’ve been
In the background
Of other people’s family portraits.
Right there in the sun,
Dress pulled down. My head, on fire.
R I T A
Of impossibility. Rita, the mortified.
Of what we want: to grow up godless
Against the walls of our parents’ basements.
To watch danger-boys film themselves
Coming for some pocket-change made online.
To be among the horrible girls
Who know how to move through hell
Easy, their tongues wrapped around black candy.
Patroness of freak, deranged defendant,
What does it mean to be earthly anymore,
Anymore than we already are.
Rake-thin in bad habit, we come hungry
For roses and incorruptible
So our wounds will not heal, but light up
Like a hologram of white bees
Shot soundlessly from your mouth.
Richard Quigley is currently an MFA candidate at Columbia University. His poems have appeared in B O D Y, Black-listed Magazine, and elsewhere. He lives and works in New York.