I Have Long Lost a Concept of Sleep
Snakes are building a nest/in a bed so I walk/ away/ My eyeliner is smeared / rain drops mix with tear drops & dried sweat/ my hair gains new curl before thickly falling/I swish swallow spit champagne and Chambord/ hit clubs so dark / I can’t tell—was that you was that me? / A rhythm pumps through my skin/ move towards/ body heat. / I’ve stopped trying to tell /what my feet are doing / I swim / gasp over water & find warmth/ in isolated spots of my body fingertips/ burn /my breasts/ I am lost/ in the strobes. /I want to stay here forever/ home is a far-gone prospect & the heat is out / in my car but here I can seek out moments of spotlight /No one follow me /because I step/ I bird/ I am a woman whose toes curl backwards/ break off When do neglect and indulgence become the same things? / My emotions suffocate /under dust. I find a section of earth & /pantone. I carry longing / in the scars on my thighs /& when I look in the mirror I wonder/ if my lover would recognize me? / I sparkle pearl & moscatto but break open pink / My thoughts unravel like ribbons / I swim silver skin in / diamond dark, my heart pierces through / the atmosphere light up/ under the moon & / dance shadow, the cool of it all. I hit up an abandoned / Ferris wheel/ redstains across my body & talk /selfsweet tonight climb/ My lungs icicle & /seagulls become discarded tissues behind me/ Mud slides between my toes/ I turn / to a stranger in the water below / whose face is mine but not mine/a cousin I never met / gatita, let’s jump/ she calls /& the ocean comes to me in an embrace, there—/
I Learn from History
The Queen of Versailles gave me lessons
on scapegoating over tea, so tonight I lay down,
and Every Man steps right over me. From the ground, I can see
a squirrel bury a nut, but the future can’t be trusted to arrive.
Pat pat pat pat into the Earth:
I haven’t left my kitchen floor in weeks, but I have
a plan. Streetlights open up on every block: veins, saturating
anything around them. I dream of a step forward each moment,
and I will ask the questions that suffocate deep in my chest,
the ones that I cough up when I’m alone: red, black, and green.
Why does my anger scare you? Are you afraid of me
or are you afraid of what will happen
if I stand beside you?
I want to purge this, circle the parking lot, salt the asphalt,
grow whole universes in darkness.
But until then, I survive five miles under ice,
with other extinct things.
There I indulge in morbidity,
watch in silence as my flesh loses blood,
stiffens, loosens from my body. The gap between
cheek and cheekbone fills with slush water, I come apart
under teeth like butter knives, but the fish assure me
I am not feeling a thing.