HeyJaredbody of flowers
we are both: the empathy vainglorious humanity (an animus of my oxygen)
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 19
- Latest publication
- Sep 30, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 12, 2026
Latest issues
Sexual Healer (opens the original)
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I just watched this video, and found it to be extremely enlightening. I feel like no one talks about this; or maybe we are trying to, but it’s all clouded in the shadows. Something we have forgotten about ourselves; something forgotten amid the pockets of magic we’ve tossed out in exchange for greed and pride, sinful luxuries. Unless you were born to be a king, then I suppose, you should indulge in life’s many luxuries, but this is also a sacred mystery and with great power always comes great re
خَبلة Shadows (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published Glowing eyes of the surrealist, or orbs out of shadows she comes down on her knees, like all her creatures do and strips them back to hunt the marrows. Inside her darkness, what she imagines to be inside the head of malice, or some other pink organ where there is the woman. You, strange creature, I see you, lurking and step around the flying cart, snag a needle or three or six; hook onto the monkey, and notice where he does
i’m swimming in mormon soup (opens the original)
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Monday, September 21 It’s just a minute past 1AM, I’m typing this letter in a cursive font because I feel insane, and I’m recovering from the flu or some kind of wicked cold. Today I was told that my hemoglobin levels are consistent with anemia. Yesterday I tried to write a poem about the blood and ended up ripping the paper from its grasp and throwing my typewriter a few feet in front of me because it got stuck and I got angry. Pretty sure I’ve been anemic for years, ever since that one blood d
On Striped Things (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published On a whim of desire, the wind speaks: on each limb, there blooms three branches, on seven petals, on caterpillars that turn to mysteries. On the bracing nets of each spider’s web; on an assumption, the river speaks: on the space that is consumed, take what may be on the necessity of each fragmented life. On the moment of time, hands knit cluttered souls onto blank CDs, on pockets and patches. On each blankness, your voice s
Little Black Bird & Heaven (opens the original)
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Little Black Bird I wrote about you today, little black bird. I said, to my friends of the living, “There’s no place where you might be.” Because you’re gone, little black bird. You are dead. And the chimney sweep reeks of your flavor, and there are customs that have forgotten the sweet taste of what it means to soar, like you, little black bird. I’m eating a peach, one that comes in a can because I’m afraid to get them fresh. I always forget and they turn to rot. I am afraid to leave any page b
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