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hazellerachelle.bsky.social
hazelle rachelle
@hazellerachelle.bsky.social
270 followers 320 following 10 posts
poet + aspiring screenwriter! | queer speculative [prose] poetry in Chestnut Review, HAD, HOAX, HORNS, you name it... hazellelerum.com 🏳️‍🌈| pdx | tin house ‘25
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hazellerachelle.bsky.social
been awhile!
Hazelle selfie - brunette white woman with disconnected haircut of curly hair/two small braids, wearing a muscle shirt
October 31, 2025 at 4:01 PM
hazellerachelle.bsky.social
Seems tonally appropriate for Black Friday. Originally appeared in The Dread Machine, Issue 3.2.
DreamBlastic™ Stimulating White Noise Boost Your Productivity Lucid Dreams Night Light Rotating Lamp - ★★★★★ Before, my dreams were useless, like dreaming of chopping too much cabbage, or that you never died. Sometimes I dreamt of rubbing against a large balloon and it felt like sex. Other times I dreamt of sex and it felt like rubbing against a large balloon. I still dream of my teeth falling out, but now instead of dry-swallowing, I dream of mouthguards to tame their roaming geology, whitening strips to strip their history, and veneers to fix their shamefulness outright. Like before, I dream of my exes: HBO, Netflix, Paramount+. I dream of flying: American Airlines. And I dream of showing up to school pantsless: Victoria’s Secret. I no longer dream about your death, or having to explain gender to my parents, or all my long-dead pets in a cold sweaty ball. Instead I dream of cream spread over thin limbs. I dream of dildos shaped like krazy-straws, and sheets silky as a bud. I dream of myself, fragrant with purpose. I dream I bump into the woman who picked my coffee beans at the park, and she is dressed colorful and she is happy, happy, happy. Now when your heart stops as it often does in my worst nightmares, the iPhone 14 dials fast and sweet, and the operator knows the exact words to start your heart again. When our Toyota Camry plunges over the cliff face, we float to the surface like beads of cream, smiling and giggling like gulls.
November 29, 2024 at 9:39 PM
hazellerachelle.bsky.social
Election poem. First appeared in Minto Press, 2023.
The Animals Choose The Gods and on Day 1, they rule out father gods. Most insects don’t respect their fathers, so, despite it making the rest of the animals a smidge (a mite?) uncomfortable, the vote is sustained. On Day 2 it is found the worms put in votes for Janus, some twice each, since it is so hard keeping heads from tails with them. Day 3 was mostly uneventful. Day 4 When the results were announced (a golden idol), the lions were mostly confused, as it is their duty to eat gods. On Day 5 the lions that eat the gods ate the electoral college. They sucked the blood like wine from their claws, and the purple sank into their yellows like a bruise. On Day 6 the animals wept for falling so short of perfection. Only the gators and gulls never stopped. On Day 7 a caucus was called to hold a re-election. The winner was an obscure god created by an 8-year-old who saw divinity in the oilslick of a dragonfly’s wings. The animals found this candidate strangely easy to back. The following hundred years involved a lot of heads being eaten from eyeball to jawbone, as well as flitting back and forth, forward back, forward back, right left, forward back. Hazelle Lerum @hazellerachelle
November 20, 2024 at 3:38 AM
hazellerachelle.bsky.social
hello!
November 13, 2024 at 2:02 AM
hazellerachelle.bsky.social
Peter Smith, 2023
Poem titled “Love Letters to My Wife”: If I were / seawater / and you / an eye / socket, / would you / hold me / forever? Below the poem is a partial image of a collage of water images
November 11, 2024 at 7:25 PM