electroshock
The eel writhes with no battery. Electricity
is a texture but we name it a force
to make it a law. After I let my hand bloom
in the brown paper bag and felt the squirming sandpaper
I was less afraid of long black stretches. Fashion
struggles the farther it moves from shapes, the more it curls
around a bowl of curling. The spinning
plastic woman operates with springs
inside a music box. She will tell you I made this bespoke
but I made this from what they tried to feed me. I made this
From the cloth of another garment’s cloth.
I made angel bodies out of porn.
There are no meals made of light but you can also
make the idea of energy and eat it, you can
plug your mouth with a light bulb and set your head
aswitch, you can turn on their idea of beauty.
Candice Wuehle is the author of the chapbooks VIBE CHECK (Garden Door Press, 2017), curse words: a guide in 19 steps for aspiring transmographs (Dancing Girl Press, 2014) and EARTH*AIR*FIRE*WATER*ÆTHER (Grey Books Press, 2015). Her work can be found in Tarpaulin Sky, The Volta, The Colorado Review, SPORK, The New Orleans Review and Prelude, among others. She is originally from Iowa City, Iowa and is a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Candice currently resides in Lawrence, Kansas where she is a Chancellor’s Fellow at The University of Kansas. Find her at candicewuehle.com.
