Jilly Moreno

dumb bitch mythology

i wish i looked the way i wish i look

that’s a stupid thing to say but it just makes me

so sad all the time

a creature for no reason with eyes

it was a good night because i was vulnerable with my best friend on facetime

and no mouse has come out of that gap between the dishwasher and fridge,

then i watched a movie where the main character has tiny tits

and did a little rapturing of your image

my fantasy is better than you, relentlessly

because people never fuck the heart they way you want them to,

it’s always the bad way

which is a shame, when there’s so much divine possibility

we should continue to fuck like it’s one extended dream,

i’m sick of not talking about gods

i want mortality to be so much more romantic,

not just one little, daily grief

Said the message

Today i talked to the barista about the book i’m reading. It’s a book of poems by Cecilia Vicuña.

I thought i was embarrassing myself but he told me he too was reading a book by a conceptual

artist. Some guy who put holes in buildings. “That was all he did.” The barista was long and

golden like sand. I was so flustered i left my sunglasses at the counter.

Back home i talked to Liz on the phone about her painting called Options in Community Living.

In it is a man eating the plug for a blender and also a Minion’s naked ass. Everything today is

shot through with a literary feeling because of the sky.

It happens to be Christmas day. The emptiness of Los Angeles vibrates its stillness against

mine. I remember a childhood Christmas where my best friend and i created a town out of a

dollhouse and a cardboard box we wrote “Groceries” on. We stocked it with miniature apples

and bananas. That thing about the sexual desire to eat or be eaten— vore. Liz suggested i like

miniatures because i could eat them whole if i wanted. It really is about them being bite-sized.

Later i read on my couch until there was a knock on the door. I wanted it to be something that

it couldn’t be, so it wasn’t that. It’s nice growing older to realize how simple i am. I took two big

dogs for a walk in wet Elysian where little puddles were dancing. I noticed everyone today was

talking about angels. I hope the barista wears my sunglasses to the beach.


i think everyone really is a woman

that raw pink pussy beats in the chest

slick and open

but then all the body is pink and wet

more like nothing is a heart

and I didn’t close mine like an accordion

trapping your finger in my folds

you just snapped it off and grew a new one

and i have this thing stuck in me like a dart

Jilly Moreno is a TV writer and poet living in Los Angeles, obsessed primarily with figuring out how to relate to bodies; hers and others.