Hannah Lamb-Vines is writing a novel about a woman who inexplicably births a sheep dog. An irregularly updated list of her publications is available at neutralspaces.co/lambvines.

can i die but not make a habit out of it?

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watch you spit backwards in dreams

whatever they think about you is just a reflection of themselves except for whatever

you think about what they think about you

eat the one hundred dollars with performative gusto

and parmesan

your printing fees

we could all do digital but look what that does to the underworld

and if we are all scraps in the wind

what happened to the trees?

this weekend was a weekend

for the life of me, i avoid everything

therapy is just capitalism’s bandaid, anonymity? you’re paying for isolation

from your community

bike shorts fresh from the plastic

jacket thrifted eleven years ago

t-shirt passed on from a friend

socks, dollar store, christmas

bra, thong, whatever, whatever

i spit backwards in dreams, i’m fucked up

i regret it all, i would do it again if i had the option

but i have the option

i don’t want to do this, i don’t want

yeah, i’ll try anything once

today was a day

i don’t like your beard. i don’t like

your baby talk. i don’t like your

weird obsessions i only like

my weird obsessions. i don’t like

you but you’re here, you’re right

here.

your ego is so real i got it stuck under my fingernails

let’s hug, this rubber smell like september

cut grass on the soccer field

sidelines staring got stuck

no sweater

whatever

i only write poetry when i’m asleep

everything else is translation

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the werewolf reads her birth chart

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stalled from the start: should i check

the date / time / place where i was born

                        or where i was bit?

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