ALT TEXT: [sunday news, NOWHERE NEWS] is a poem set in the form of a
newspaper article, specifically a headlining article and its follow-up article.
The first article is titled “Another Abduction in Nowhere”. This is an article split in two
parts, visually appearing like a contrapuntal.

Part 1: your body oozes the consistency of plastic heat from the beach, warmth burned
by biohazard brightness—you remember losing yourself to dunes of the sand-textured
skin of His large hands. how are you laughing when He won’t let you refuse, His hands
fisting in you, hotred shattering in you like a broken bulb. and you’re so dry from the
sand and the shards, His jagged nails scratching the slimy chardpink parts of you. that’s
the charge for His charm, that always comes much later or not at all. did you know that
if you redirect pain to a carving on a chunk of thigh or wrist, and you pick at the
yellowfibers in your blood, you get a wish? don’t you see your

Part 2: body oozes with wishes when you reek of a scalpburn beach heat, your body
filled with biohazard plastic. you parse your lips to a smile because that’s the command

He gives and gives and gives, and if you refuse, He sticks His fingers down your throat
until you puke up a shattering mess of puce or red muck, your guts sucked dry and
refilled with sand, all the while your body is a box or a pit, all things intended for
playtime. see, isn’t He fun? isn’t His charm so funny, the way He lets you be empty and
so full. the way you are nothing, and then you are everything.
The follow up article is titled “Eyewitness Account”, which is split in three parts, visually
appearing like a triptych.

Part 1: Peanut brushes back in a cold corner of the farmland, her eyes shrunken to
snakeslits and her teeth ache to harm Him, her small body arched with alarming
amounts of glazed-over bloodrage. every

Part 2: time, you think she’s a coward, but to know when to curse ex-lovers with a quick
flick of claws—and how—rewards her with courage, kill-hungry courage. how often has
she been watching, how guilt

Part 3: has burned into the pits of her stomach until her vision blurs to see you in so
much pain you turn for more, for a taste of control?