a circuitous meditation

there’s nothing wrong with getting sick
you can get sick if you need to
there will be a way to get sick discreetly
getting sick will make you feel better
you are not sick, it’s only nervousness
only an hour to go
at least this isn’t a headache
because then, I can’t even think

 

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headache

perhaps my own negligence will kill you
bending down around the corner of our little house
while you are snatched from the lawn

or my breasts will dry
and i’ll watch you starve
all i’ve loved, uninhabitable

june, will you hang on to me?
there is no way of knowing

still spooked in a house alone
wary walking the street
my fears are still a child’s
what will you know of me?

 

code

i have killed all kinds, what is a suitable punishment for me? what is a suitable punishment for me?silent to a slur, what is a suitable punishment for me?what is a suitable punishment for me?what is a suitable punishment for me?would rather be liked, what is a suitable punishment for me?what is a suitable punishment for me?what is a suitable punishment for me?even crushed the slinky babes building webs in door jambs, what is a suitable punishment for me?what is a suitable punishment for me?hungered and i filled beyond, hunger and i killed more, what is a suitable punishment for me?what is a suitable punishment for me?what is a suitable punishment for me?what is a suitable punishment for me? colonial little helper, what is a suitable punishment for me?what is a suitable punishment for me?turned my back to suffering, dying in the street, what is a suitable punishment for me?what is a suitable punishment for me?feeling sorry, what is a suitable punishment for me?what is a suitable punishment for me?what is a suitable punishment for me?inept, bankrupt, status quo what is a suitable punishment for me?

essay on my body

some parts of me are free, and those parts are necessarily dark
i mean it. no light originates from inside my head. only from the outside. i need light to make sense. in my guts, darkness. i like it.
i get to thinking about creation; how pitiably hungry we are about it.

my free parts cannot be read by anyone but me
do not be threatened
make no mistake, i like to share
all the things that other people know about each other, all the things that keep us familiar, i like that too

and inside, all the while, i’m routinely writing what cannot be seen
i throw letters out to a black pond
i paddle out in vigorous sentences
i am seasick with words sometimes
i want to harbor something challenging, unbearable
and bring it to light

when it’s done i am relieved; i look down at it
my freedom is full of error, fearful, and always changing.

all the little things that make the big things
happen in blackness
i am from a dark, wet, place
smelling like an animal
disgusting, intentional

requiem

when we met here, on earth
there it was (defining “spirit”: a gathering – a process of cellular, pathogenic, mammalian, or galactic import, etc.)
we are here for the one who fled us

at this point, we sing your name
god was heard
some are crying
this is what we called you
one unalone
after all, it goes on

in your death
paradox made contact
and we understood where you went
as though you were made known to us
at the underside of anything unseen
there it was made obvious: material exists in a space assumed vacuous

called upon to confront our selves
turning back to try to spot
the one who broke away

we are coming for you!
no one goes on without us (defining “love”: transmutive reel. or, access.)
no one is me, no one is you (defining “god”: a gathering – cellular, mammalian, et al. bridle of wonder.)