Giddy in the Arms of Disaster

“It Ain’t All Hugs and Handshakes”

sang sly prophecy

in slang. Crime in Stereo,

crime conceived us that fall and

he hid the needles in his speakers


I’ll give you a minute to find it funny.


Only I, messed up on warm blood and bass drums

could fall for bad haircut, Bad Brains

t-shirt, black eye—


You say, I can’t see what there is to love.


But hands in hands in each other’s pockets in

satin golf course sand we drew dicks.

They wrote me a song in the moonlit barn

and I shook.


They called me Coldy Coldskins and it stuck.


Counting to seven it came hunting, remember

stalked and snatched him in dead-leaf wind and

syringes, in sirens and slashed walls, remember.


I crawled on scuffed knees, cracked knuckles

tracking, until

trees like traitors

came clean and bowed to winter.

–Kristina M Sarhadi

Kristina  is the editorial director of Blak Licorice. Her work has appeared in literary journals throughout the US and UK. She holds a BA from Vassar College, an MSW from USC, and several other acronyms.

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