JASMINE KAPADIA -

HONEY VINAIGRETTE

hello, i’m here for the town seance. buying roasted chestnuts at the lake and

slamming my girlfriend’s head into the ice when the beat drops, portrait of a gemini feed

chasing venus across the sky in furs. bullet holes and wet hair. i am tired,

are you the demon? here to take me

through holy terrain and shrines to winehouse. stilettos tangled in 90s silk gowns

because its 5am in my time zone and i'm willing to hurt anyone at this hour and

i pray i don’t hurt myself. perhaps this means arising, running riots

dark lip liner and shitty gas station coffees. have you come to the altar?

and have you come to the end of yourself, thirsty for yourself and drowned in

yourself? is it too pretentious to 

say that i am burning a graveyard in my body? it is littered with garbage and when they thump their bibles i will laugh and laugh and laugh. and are you my guardian angel? 

because i have decided

that i am no longer interested, so instead give me nosebleeds and

take the youth out of me. will you recognize me

tongue flat on ribcage flashing on your tv? there is a tattoo of hell’s angel on my left side.

you die a new summer with every glance.


RIOTS

is it too pretentious to say that i am burning a grave-

yard in my body? 

in minneapolis, the target is on fire and everyone is tired, and the devil’s jaw

disintegrates and falls clean out of his face. 

tonight we watch the election, blue light body flickering against tear gas

and the white men are gagging, smoke crawling out of their

throats to greet the angels. they look so pretty tonight, feathers crawling with lice

and eyes rotted, spilling over gaunt cheekbones. 

soft hair under strobe lights

and it looks just like a movie: crush it up,

swallow. portrait of a girl riding shotgun in the devil’s car, and everything

looks beautiful and the moon is powder blue. 

the men are

falling at the alter with their mouths full of maggots, poet drowning 

at the bottom of the yangtze river. and the angels take them by the hand, leading

them off of cliffs and laughing at their bones rolling down the rock faces.

the devil who has now eaten the girl french kisses his angels flat on their chapped lips, 

dipping them low. 

they are lovers in the parking lot, chasing each other along the white lines.

this night is never-ending and the water is poisoned 

this means there is no more wine.

spend a summer getting centred until the angels break the earth once more, bullets buried under bloody tongues and fingernails pulled out,

and stumble into church on sunday morning to tear skin 

from shoulder blades

to laugh with slashed throats at heaven.

Jasmine Kapadia has work in or forthcoming in Same Faces Collective, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, Ogma Magazine, Malala Fund’s Assembly, and Cathartic Youth Lit, among others. When not writing, she can be found stanning Beyoncé or (re)-binge-watching RuPaul’s Drag Race. Find her on Instagram: @jazzymoons