{"id":2617,"date":"2026-04-23T08:39:07","date_gmt":"2026-04-23T13:39:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thespectaclstg.wpengine.com\/?p=2617"},"modified":"2026-04-29T12:10:07","modified_gmt":"2026-04-29T17:10:07","slug":"three-poems-by-aspen-taylor","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/?p=2617","title":{"rendered":"Three Poems by Aspen Taylor"},"content":{"rendered":"

Overdose Note #24<\/strong><\/p>\n

Displease your hometown. Uncork the cavity of its genuine
sick like milk-rot, the argument of its knived, gutless lilies,<\/p>\n

lips licked at the forkroad of another death. Its definitions
of grieving something like embers put out in your mouth.<\/p>\n

Despise your carnal upbringing, its urn of warm warning,
its whippet of whorled snow. Desire no desire but insult.<\/p>\n

Unflatter your memory: that girl sacrificed to a faceless,
tentacled god, how she crawled onto a bike path, & lived.<\/p>\n

Despair your mentioned name, its siloed ghost a pop
of cyanide in the tylenol, a pop of pop in the lighter fluid,<\/p>\n

fentanyl in the weekend stash. Dreamboat your backyard,
its lonely hours spent wondering why people eat people,<\/p>\n

numbing a lung of summer air. Unanswer your prayers.
Decide no safety\u2019s worth saving if your mouth\u2019s a snare.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n\n\n

\n\n\n

Sicker<\/strong><\/p>\n

On the surface I look sick
               but in a good way, like Oh, she\u2019s sick\u2014<\/em>
but it\u2019s just me, and I am
               happy to look this unwell for you\u2014
this succubus-sick, I mean
               chic, deliciously starved, sick-skinny,
I mean stick, when I wear
               that crop top, I always sick it in,
I mean suck, like that\u2019s what
               he means when we\u2019re in the parking
lot, late at night, snow on the
               blades of the windshield, and he says
Suck, <\/em>and I\u2019m not supposed
               to feel sick, I\u2019m supposed to be flat,
I mean flattered, and I guess
               I am, in a sick sort of way, to be his,
chosen, at last, there\u2019s a name
               for this, sick-me, no, pick-me girl,
when being chosen is the prize
               to be won, and really, I just want to
sick, I mean slip, inside an
               actress\u2019 skin, the sickle moon of
her stomach, but when I stun,
               am I just stunted, am I just a kid
with female parts, two bullet
               -hole ovaries and an inability to
please, am I just an abrasion
               of flesh, an acrobat of bone, as
I sick my fingers past my teeth,
               on a tightrope of acid, by the end
of this my throat will be
               fucked, but at least I\u2019ll look like
the light I drank as a child,
               lithium-blue pool of a pixelated
want, and when I say want<\/em>,
               do I mean won\u2019t, when I say just, <\/em>
do I mean justified, when I
               give my excuse, car-sick, heat-sick,
home-sick, am I just sick
               of this cyclical body, how I sync,
I mean sink, into my cess
               -pool of hunger, call it diet, call
it cleanse, as I enter that
               nothingness, I mean really, have
you ever gone to bed hungry,
               deliberately, have you ever pressed
your tongue to the proof of
               your mouth, let the sores be mirror
-borne, envied their taste, god,
               their waste\u2014how somehow, even
when I, like a liquor, leave my
               lips, I\u2019ll think I\u2019ve gotten thicker,
no, I know\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n

\n\n\n

SEX SLAVERY IS INVADING OUR SUBURBS<\/em> BILLBOARD DURING MIDWESTERN SUMMER<\/strong><\/p>\n

the cruel price
of cow\u2019s milk.<\/p>\n

the intersection
where a girl got<\/p>\n

abducted. inside
the gas station<\/p>\n

bathroom stall,
a poster warns<\/p>\n

sex traffickers
can look just<\/p>\n

like your father
so text HELP<\/p>\n

if god left you
stranded in<\/p>\n

his image with
no one to turn<\/p>\n

to but a sign.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n

Aspen Taylor is a poet and visual artist currently pursuing an MFA in Poetry from NYU, where she teaches and serves as a Poetry Editor for Washington Square Review<\/em>.<\/p>\n

She can be found on Instagram @aspen.leaves.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

am I just an abrasion of flesh \/ acrobat of bone …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":2624,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[110],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2617"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2617"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2617\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/2624"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2617"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2617"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2617"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}