Veronica Castrillón grew up in Asbury Park, where the view from her bedroom was a carousel, The Pink Flamingo hotel, the Palace Amusements, and a porno theatre.
If I could carve out my own heart, I think I’d survive it. What I am now, something too close to involuntary. It does not admit me, doesn’t yield to release its secrets. It fastened itself to my self. I have a mane, my nostrils flare. Some kind of remainder: But I am the human […]
I’ve watched the mouth have known it to swell with blood lust I’ve heard hands make unspeakable sounds when they crashed on the surface of another or myself it seemed we loved winter made frost of mercy(look at us ( then there were vows we laid bare to remember only the body kept its word […]
Table set, fork in hand, napkin on my lap: sitting beside you, I still look like someone civilized. You’re leaning forward, hands cupping your neck, while I watch the slow rise and fall of your back. Like you, I need to be broken into. I imagine your head burrowed between my legs, fingers hooked inside […]