Empiricism is the Enemy
Kate Schnetzer
Sometimes, I scream into the night.
I sprint in my sleep.
I cry when I fuck.
Sometimes, I find this disconcerting.
But, sometimes is close enough to
rarely, so I pretend it means
never.
I mumble prevarications; I’m embarrassed
by myths that persist in my muscles’ memories.
My body spills its fleshy acrimony,
onto an oblivious victim.
“Sometimes”
creates holes that lay not in the coils of my stomach but in my spine
is striated and my belly full
of soil I swallowed
in cadence until
all the good I devoured
was cemented;
all the crummy too.
I watered the dust with love; it grew
into an enraged spire that clambered up my throat.
The bile-coated gorse makes my tongue taste like roses: ambrosial and
sardonic.
How do I rationalize the recoil
to feelings
I’ve never known?
Kate Schnetzer recently graduated from Indiana University, receiving a B.A. in Theatre & Drama. She loves stories by emerging artists and has directed a number of contemporary Queer works. In her spare time, she makes rugs, writes bad - but not boring - plays, and kills basil plants. Her writing can be found in Sweet Tree Review. She is originally from Orlando, FL.
