chromatographics

gay poems by mb bischoff

#📈

2 poems

poison

the black bottle kept just out of reach of those who fear my obsidian liquid

a toxicology report: deadly in large doses but taken with care the hurting heals us

sure, share a nightcap wince with me in pain we need this to sting no easier, knowing it

small sips are sweet deeper drinks, bitter stone fruit can’t mask a burning this intense

scared to let you see me like this — red eyes pierce pewter framing you want, no, need to

as the spirit fully hits there’s no stopping this             drink. the cork is broken now

camcorder

twentysomething object built to take a beating— recording blurry scenes to wound cassette tapes.

humming with precision opening up when pressed her red button worndown by many careless owners.

secondhand machine with new ways of seeing inside freezing a frame when it can’t take this much in…

an observation device for triangular dynamics that separate signal and static projecting what is actual.

a new lease on life from repairs to its internals, charging, maintenance, & importantly: regular use.