Like the Butterfly Bursts From its Cocoon...

...so do I, too, smush aside the gelatinous goo that doth clothe my voluptuous, vibrant person and emerge freshcheeked and slimy into the light of radiant day.

Updating! For the first time in months!

I had a rollicking summer of many ups and downs (got drunk in the river, read a lot of Robert Service, hiked the Tetons, was nearly eaten by a bear, got lost in the woods, turned 22, etc). Now I'm having a first-term-of-grad-school full of ups and downs, and I think everything's going to turn out well. I'm working on a new story that shows some promise and the dog is no longer bouncing around my heels like a crack-addled Chihuahua. Saw a severe librarianwalking some Mexican hairless dogs the day before yesterday. What's not to love about this life?

Here's a poem for my return to the internet. It's a first draft and not very good. But fuck you guys, okay? It's fine.

Retrophilia
Becky Adams

If this were a Bela Lugosi movie
you and I would wear white white

pancake and stare deep back
beyond the camera into the shadows

of the catwalk.
Low voices and eerie

lighting, a dab of technicolor here
and there, an old woman’s handkerchief

at your neck, and I could slit
the bag-blood of your throat

with my mouth
and flee

in a series of fading stills
while you bled, and died,

and slid slowly down the castle door.