Alex Vigue

GERD

I pick my nose until it bleeds
control. Anvil body reeks of singed skin
and vomit. Caffeine, you have to drink to
keep up, to survive, hammer.
Retail, you have to pay your dues,
hammer. I scratch at the scalp moon
dust until it bleeds

panic. Footprints sear undisturbed in lunar
crust, craters bounce around in circles, ring
around ashes on the windowsill, ashes
on the pillow, teak blood on the new

sheets. I floss my teeth until they bleed—
only takes one pass. Nail polish bleeds
onto cuticles, an untrained hand, barely
passable, needs shower steam erosion.
No sport saved my wretched thoughts.
No alter other than fire shaped me,

a crucible is too many things. Hot
blade, hot blonde both singe soft
short lasting pliability. Stoking charred
leaves, nerves. Damned bellows gasping
GERD phlegm and bile. I burn myself
on my own handles. A sacrifice to
remain malleable.

Alex Vigue is a non-binary writer from a small town in Washington State. He has a bachelor’s degree in Creative Writing from Western Washington University and has been published in Vinyl, Occulum, and Lockjaw Magazine. His debut chapbook “The Myth of Man” was a finalist for the Floating Bridge Press chapbook competition. He volunteers his time trying to impress the importance of poetry to people of all ages.

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