Child of Wands

by Alex Vigue | March 21, 2020

envy the whale belly and its barnacles,
jealousy as sung by a swallow’s name,
tube sock violence with neighborhood pennies
tube sock cock joke rag cemented with
salt and gagging—cough it up
spit the colour of rust from unflossed teeth.

a body is a begging / a body is a repetition /
a body is seat and eat and obsession /

fat body with seams stretching purple and
livid wishing all that heat could escape
as a vivid expulsion. a ring can make him
quake vermilion, a careful hand can press
him blue then release for white and clear
and crying in a good way, beetle shell
fingernails digging into nude flesh.
a painting, a succession, another
who pays for dinner, another forgetful
bottom, another impetus.

Alex Vigue (he/him) is a queer 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, Hobart Pulp, and Drunk Monkeys. 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 on people of all ages.