Grey Vild

Grey Vild is a Queer Art Mentorship & Brooklyn Poets fellow & a MFA candidate in poetry at Rutgers University. His work can be found at Them, Vetch, Harriet: The Blog and elsewhere.





When the body is a den without light      


The bridge, having failed to empty the river having failed to swallow the bright copper slur  a body having no likeness failed refuge & refuse a pornography of grief having failed the sweet grass & the lock having failed to signify midas-like clay tiles formed over thighs parchment of lips to include vices recording ticks & blood at the source having failed a vow like betrayal to provide meaning now haltingly having failed to redeem having  shorn  now gentle & shorn again having won, finally. The bridge, glistens like a secret city.


Dirt doll in a


cathedral made of mouths. Spiderglassed past tonsils & each fastened likening. Let’s make every hollow a carnal verge worth deeming. Hurt, where our yawning maul chandeliers breathe to echo, I’ve taken a vow like betrayal. Wanted to speak nothing, instead splintered inside each other’s cries — the kind no one can hear.



He kept a picture of her all through the war all through the camp he said he would have died without it


Much the way I lost every image of you except the small knife you gave me. Much like every picture of you became, reflection & distortion. a gleaming, a threat I carried with me everywhere. In it, you are all shine. & smaller than you should be.


ppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppIt is only my fault if I held it too close.





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