The Collapsar publishes new poetry, fiction, and nonfiction every other month, and new culture writing weekly.

Four Poems by Billie R. Tadros

Four Poems by Billie R. Tadros






Spindling. The whites of eggs
and eyes on the familiar street

and whisked into cocktails.

There were veils so
I thought of you.

Of holding.      Of hiding.






I watch you grind
slate between your
teeth, seeking chalk-

white. Weary echoes,
your enamel wears
thin, acid bearing

saffron, your mouth
an autumn bloom.






You unzip your rubber
suit like butterflied
lobster tails.

I’ve got callus
peelings and all night
to talk about exoskeletons.

Steamed, they’re not screams,
merely the release of air
through the mouthparts.






You rip the negatives from the strip
and swallow them with cheap wine.

When they call to tell me you’ve ruptured
your stomach lining, I think only
of flashes.





Billie R. Tadros is a doctoral student in English at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette and the author of two chapbooks, Containers (Dancing Girl Press, 2014) and inter: burial places, which is forthcoming from Porkbelly Press. You can find her and more of her work at

Consider This: Links

Consider This: Links

Great Expectations: The Avalanches' Wildflower, by Kevin O'Rourke