Self-Portrait as Carrion: A Duplex
by Chelsea Jackson
Where do you lay a head filled with blowflies--
hum-buzz on pillow stained with the meat of dreams.
My dreams hunt a flesh I can never slip into.
I am chased by a self I can never escape.
When escaping yourself make sure others know
you’re gone. Make sure you leave burnt breadcrumbs.
Leave breadcrumbs by the head of your bed
to leach-lick the violence behind your closed eyes.
Close your eyes and wish violence on the violent
if only to stop the hemorrhaging.
Does a new cut divert the hemorrhage? When
the blood forgets to pool you know you’re asleep.
No matter the hour, I can never sleep.
Where do you lay a head filled with blowflies?
hum-buzz on pillow stained with the meat of dreams.
My dreams hunt a flesh I can never slip into.
I am chased by a self I can never escape.
When escaping yourself make sure others know
you’re gone. Make sure you leave burnt breadcrumbs.
Leave breadcrumbs by the head of your bed
to leach-lick the violence behind your closed eyes.
Close your eyes and wish violence on the violent
if only to stop the hemorrhaging.
Does a new cut divert the hemorrhage? When
the blood forgets to pool you know you’re asleep.
No matter the hour, I can never sleep.
Where do you lay a head filled with blowflies?
Chelsea Jackson is a multi-genre writer and editor with a passion for asking hard questions and interrogating social narratives. Author of the collection All Things Holy and Heathen (April Gloaming, 2024), Jackson has an MFA from Drew University, is the co-editor of The Maine Review, and has been published in Riverfeet Press, Fatal Flaw Literary Magazine, Hearth and Coffin, Driftwood, and Beyond Queer Words, among other publications. They live in Richmond, VA with their partner and cuddly pitbull.