As your breath above mine

My mouth tastes like raw egg yolk and the soap I try to wash my hands with has been sitting in its own juices for so long that it comes apart in my hands, oozing. I feel like that soap. So saturated as to have changed my chemical state.

Recipe: 1. Write tangled poetry 2. Watch one David Lynch Movie per day 3. Be patient

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we are all in ratios of being and becoming

I tie a thin strip of leather around my wrist. I drive across the country. I say “I love you” and for the first time in a long time the words make it past my lips. I take polaroids of the people I love. I climb walls. I eat sardines out of the back of my car. I listen. Tears of rapturous gratitude overtake me

“Maybe take this as a time to search in some of those dark places you don’t go to everyday”

“It’s good to see shadow – people have to take care of the shadow”

 

 

 

Brevity

 

 

Each person whom I have enmeshed in my limbs and inhaled ( or have slipped into a day with ) – all of my lovers – are in a room together. The bar is serving cocktails and red wine, and horderves are passed around on doilied platters. The sequins on my deep blue dress are flattened the wrong way, like fur. Everyone is comporting themselves far too calculatingly. Perhaps as more alcohol is imbibed there will be less civility? More people are in attendance than my first calculations would have predicted. I do not wake up.

 

You can have it all

If all is vast

Lodged in the numb bright

Of the sky