by nat raum
first: may you hunt me like a standoff of village
witch and pitchforked mercenary, swaying
in perpetually touchless waltz. slide
behind me and crack the top off my steel
trap’s hisses and pops, until i hum high
enough notes and parade girl so He & Them
& Everyone Everyone Knows can hear.
second: may you hunt me like we’re twenty-somethings
in a famine of all things sensual. pretend
we’re kids and you’re trembling when you
think of grazing my waistband with coaxing
fingertips. give me more than hardened red
clay from the soil i dredge. ruin me with just
the foresight of your grasp.
third: may you hunt me like you know what
you’re really after, the gristle of hurt i hide
away that makes me so midwest emo
without the midwest. just for you, i’ll let you
close enough to pluck the barbs
out of my insides.
nat raum (b. 1996) is a disabled artist, writer, and genderless disaster from Baltimore, MD. They’re a current MFA candidate and also the editor-in-chief of fifth wheel press. Past publishers of their work include Delicate Friend, perhappened, Corporeal Lit, and trampset. Find them online: natraum.com/links.