drink
to put a name on learning of flamboyance—
the shrimp-pink feathers flock, you realize there is a joy in living.
the edge of the sea is a clock, the dorito-bag-jelly my entire tongue—
a sword, a war, knowing an apple contained of only salt.
we preserve, persevere, and poke holes into the sky,
open a wormhole to 1969, miss the moon landing, end up in woodstock.
dance, dance alone, until a crowd forms, or it doesn’t, and you are a bird of paradise.
i was hungry for cake urchin, but inside it was empty.
we cannot drink ourselves, so we must give ourselves to those who thirst.
brilliance
hum is light
dust our bodies
we whisper who and
i swallow a globe
of brilliance my tongue gilt
as not shame but nails
welded as rosemallow
for when we die
we vibrate
no one saw the sun
until it gulped
the moon like a sliver of ham
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Celina McManus writes poetry, fiction, and children’s literature. She is an MFA candidate at Randolph College, and her work is featured or forthcoming in Hooligan Magazine, Cosmographia Books, and Rabid Oak. She is from East Tennessee and lives in St. Paul, Minnesota. When she isn’t writing, she spends her free time in bodies of water with any pal who may join her.