Danielle Perry



you were never my quarry but still you escaped my snake-jaw. you hopped away while my mouth gaped. i shook; i rattled. i dripped venom. was i a monster, in the end? do you still speak of my charms? surely you know that for now you win the popular imagination: you are cute, you are nervous, you are prey. it will not last forever. my curse on you is this: may they see you for what you are, just a ghost, nothing solid, nothing real.






the moon smells like a gun freshly fired // the moon hits a bull’s eye on her first shot // the moon is not fucking around // the moon will show you what it means to change / to be a multitude // the moon likes how powerful she feels / & how tender // the moon knows that her tears do not negate her strength // the moon wants you to understand // the moon loves you / but she cannot change the fact that you can’t breathe around her //

Danielle Perry graduated with a degree in English Lit and Religious Studies from Guilford College in Greensboro, NC. (She endured many "so you like being unemployable" jokes.) She now lives in Portland, OR, but will always be an East Coaster at heart. Her work has been published in The Toast, FLAPPERHOUSE, and Potluck Magazine, among others. Her chapbook Phases (2015) was published by Sad Spell Press.
Mark Cugini