Hot Metal Bridge

Current Issue : Number Twenty-Five

Over

BY MELISSA DIAS-MANDOLY

There was a thing that happened once and now
over and over and never again
 
the same, a struggle between word
and definition: a boxing.
 
The shot lingers as cells expand or contract.
It’s hard to tell what’s cell or film grain.
 
There is never a clear shot.
There is no more intention.
 
Right now someone is searching
for “porn” on Google, that still holds true.
 
If the body moves beneath another
the shot that lingers on “big hairy pussy” is the axis.
 
Woman fucked over
and over even after she and everyone dies
 
the screen does not change
but the language to define it:
 
the cumshot is just cells moving
beneath a glass slide.
 
Someone searches for “nearest hospitals”
and another “obituaries.”
 
The fantasy of the internet’s
permanence doesn’t negate its permanence to anyone
 
who dies before the internet does.
Are the cells even moving or is it the camera?
 
Everything seems phallic when
you think a phallus is a straight line.
 
This attribution of cock to anything
remotely straight out from the body, language
 
deciding the how and why
of a particular woman arrested
 
for 3D printing a replica of her own vagina:
ok to have but not to hold.



Melissa Dias-Mandoly is a poet living in Pittsburgh with her cat, Catrick Bateman. She studied poetry, film, and gender studies at the University of Pittsburgh, where she was twice awarded the undergraduate poetry award. Her work has previously appeared in PANK, Storm Cellar, Bone Bouquet, and more. She currently works for the University of Pittsburgh Press.