Anna Keeler

 
Botswana Agate

I dig my hands into lottery tickets
Because my birth was breached
By a sensitive something eye.

Soft like soul,
I’m like a living, breathing coupon
Always looking for discounts.

Teasing karma out of
It’s mandala dress,
I am fire;
I offer her no protection

But the proverbial O.D.
Of freedom of stability.
I stand back here
Acting like the damn
Statue of liberty.

I repel luck,
And crystallize toxicity
Between my fingers.

An error occurred.
I’m repressing the light.

Help me.
I don’t want to struggle.

 
Explosive Neon

You had a single romantic bone in your body;
I’m sure those soft x-rays removed it.

How noble to wear denotation like angel wings
And tell me you’re inert because you’re primordial.

Loner, you tell me. You’ve always been a loner,
Just like the space below your dermis is always red-orange.

“No one can hear me.”

I’m sorry, can you repeat that?

“No one likes you.”

Yeah, I know.

Anna Keeler is a queer poet and fiction writer. Her work has been published or is upcoming with Ambit Magazine, apt, Cleaver Magazine, FIVE:2:ONE, and Poets.org.