Fear of Decadence (By Caoimhe Lavelle, for Rosi Leonard)

The grandest of frozen thighs

are not explained by smiling babies.

You can’t just explain sweet stuff,

but you can be sweet stuff.


Decadence clicks sometimes.

And it’s real.

Heaven vibes are mostly no foe.


Particularly Good (By Rosi Leonard for Caoimhe Lavelle) 

Hit by a moving material

moving because you felt good when it

hit and because you imagined someone

taking a long time to pose for this

and be disappointed when they lose the photo.

Material because it was shiny trash

after the parade some tinsel that some queen

gave to a drunk kid. Electrical discharge.

The same kid injured due to heavy feather lifting

Shiny streets are a royal wave to the sky

a floral ‘fuck you’.


‘Bout ‘Cause Anti-Sky Propaganda (By Rosi Leonard and Caoimhe Lavelle) (For Jamie)

It won’t kill us like it did those dino-bores

Hold a section of soil above your head

You have reclaimed land!

Declare yourself a wing of the marine muscle

We talked you out of interest

Those dino-bores never had the nerve

to pick a fight with the sky, by the way,

until they did.

Now, we are stuck in a dialogue

about belts made out of sirloin steak

and dining on suede.




X Easy Lessons (by Caoimhe Lavelle) (For Lam)

Will you shun futures of probeable bathrooms?

And worship pies

and butchered decadence?

Night is Divine.

Shake your berries.

Veil your divinity,

posing as an anonymous moviegoer!


Excellent Teeth Feeling (By Caoimhe Lavelle) (For Saoirse)

Hey, off-beat teeth!

Do you feel sometimes that your prophecies are gaunt?

Squatting so fancy

you’d never think that luxury was hollow.

Nevertheless, it’s miraculous

that what began as a blush of nerves

could end up so overripe!

Even if you wake up

with a velvet throat

tender, blasé foxes will obey

your darling magic.

Fake-tan only your feet

and wrinkle your teeth,

with warm, fake cranberry.


ZZZ in Mullingar (By Rosi Leonard) (For Paul)

Carry your chunk of air

something slowly collapsing on your

back like your tights losing elastic


A bag of cotton balls

round towers that don’t need us.

Perfect leftovers


Pass it and your air spills

no bounce

your air is gone

concentrate on exposure.


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