had logo

March 7, 2025

plague spit

Olive Greene

I sat in heaven’s runoff until I pruned into something hard to look at. There were angels

Hovering all over us they breathed like we do

When we’re touching unless the sky is

Much closer than I thought and it was

All echo. My fingers in your mouth, I asked you what you wanted.

My fingers in your mouth, you asked me what I wanted. Somewhere there is a cat

Named Bible. A dog named TARTAR SAUCE. A possum named Email. My

Desire has never been simple. If those really were angels

They could tell me what it means that your plague spit has yet

To wreck my body. You rolled me a cigarette and I jokingly

Refused because you licked it. After bathing in your mouth the night before,

At the base of heaven’s perverse waterfall. That sound all over like

Light hitting tension, like capacity for flight.