Where the Octopi Hide
Beneath your folded underwear. Eight legs stretching through the three-hole fabric
Grocery store bags in hand, with a pair of sunglasses, leaning against a used grey van. Don’t ask how its body was supported. It wasn’t.
In your esophagus:
Those late-nights when you can’t sleep, and feel something slippery inside you, suction cups against your ventricles, that’s it, they use your body as a sarcophagus, right there in your esophagus, because they like to die in long stretches of tube that rhyme with ancient Egyptian burial rituals.
 She is never coming back
 weeks since you last saw her
 it was the fourth. The papers claimed something about independence, freedom. things she ironically also exclaimed just last night, before midnight, with her beautiful black hair blowing across those red lips telling you it was “…”. You can’t even repeat it in your head. It began with an O and ended with an er
 You made love in there, next to used soda cans and bottles of fake spray tan
 even after a bottle of Nyquil
 and five glasses of jack
 she made you feel like you had eight legs and a head the size of your body,
 No more