DEATH DRIVES A LINCOLN
Just get on your knees, you’ve given up,
patchouli oil, burnt wicks, & dust.
Drink from scorpions in sweetened milk
& nuns who weave the rose crowns of your chest.
It’s 3 a.m., the neighbor’s windows turn
into neon glaciers. The door handle, locked.
Death accelerates while licking her steering wheel of ivory
outside a church in Oaxaca.
Your right hand will be buried deep in velvet curtains.
She tells you to get in, promises to wash your hair
struck with a match.
Ines Pujos is a poet living in New York, where she is currently getting her poetry MFA at NYU. When she’s not writing, she’s running around the city for pastries. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Hayden’s Ferry, Puerto Del Sol, Alehouse Press, The Bitter Oleander, and Dunes Review. You can reach her at firstname.lastname@example.org.