High Horse

Integration Machine 


Do you want to walk with me? Until the lips 
of a stranger, a first kiss, 
a silent death is all the same. 

If not the famine. 
If not the war. 
Middle class forever. 

Is he the one? 
Dad, you don’t even know his name. 

Ordered the vegetarian Moroccan soothsayer 
off the menu. 

The Red Book– 
Some proper trippy stuff, she said. 
Open your chakra like a breathing tube. 

Photos shot and killed in broad daylight. 

I’ll be your mirror. But 
are you looking at yourself 
or looking at me? 

Refugees of ChatGPT belong to no one. 

He can enjoy a Reese’s in his sleep and return. 
Where did we start? 
An aggressive place. 

Halfway through, I wanted to take my bra off. 
You look like you’re in paradise, they said on Zoom. 

Just a filter. I promise.

Sheridan Wilbur is an American writer living in London. Her work has been published in Hobart Pulp, Spectra, office, Huck and others.