when you come home
with the giant brass
industrial art piece to hang
at the top of the stairs,
first
I noticed
it had no smooth
edges

like a pinwheel
fringed with daggers.
in fact, I was afraid
it might cut me in the middle
of the night and the second thing
I noticed was
you were a libertarian.
I had the grace to not even
ask how much it cost.
I had bought us an entire chocolate
cake using food stamps
so I cannot judge and I
have learned
life is meaningless.

one way of coping
is ennui.
you become overcome
with a sudden boredom
bordering fatigue.
you can’t even argue.
you can’t aggress or retract,
almost as if you are floating
through it all.
but not as happy or light
as that. like you’re being
controlled by a beam.
it’s more terrifying the
grip this new surrender has.

your arched back,
your upward gaze,
some kind of nothing.
it is easier to yawn
than cry, but
their laughter
gets you–
braying:

so deep and
directed
at you.

“ennui”

I fight the urge
to dip my fingers
into the running
garbage disposal.
one of the few things that works.
challenge mechanism
designed to fillet
with one pressurized
tip.

I bet I could be the one
preserved.

“Saturn in Scorpio”

it’s got a tenuous feel–
like slipping  or promise,
these  government
fingers and really
buried hurts. resurfacing
in moments. in
explanation to someone,
detached, almost objective.
if not for that one watery eye
you wouldn’t believe that the
narrator realizes
the immensity of what they’ve
survived.

“Allegheny Station“

first, he showed me the block.
waved his hands over black ice,
concrete, gritted
      you know how to make things work

he walked several feet ahead as
we did a loop between two identical
intersections and stopped in a booth so
he could pay for the affection:
a vegan milkshake to soften
the contrast between two
nearly identical snow-lit
worlds; two winters in two
time zones but one was green and blue
and foothill-lined
and this one hung in the air:
gelid, tense, a dense and
mutable gray that changed from
partially cloudy to
ang
but what is more concerning is the
space between us.

I slurped the vanilla coconut cream
from the plastic straw without making
eye contact or anything known
and he laughed at the things
that just rolled off my tongue
in these little allayed fits.

 it was January fifth,
the middle of a
polar vortex and I hadn’t seen
the center of the city yet,
or west or anything but
Kensington.
I kept mumbling about the
loose trash  and he smiled.
my nose was running so
I spent the evening
in silence wiping it.
trembling, 
cradled in his iron abdomen.

he mistook each tremor for the chill
settling in; a new house
that is, and I could feel
every sheath around me
crack like I just sprinted,
hit a frozen lake with my
cannonball skull heavy from
the weight of the unending pendulum
    think think think

and pieces of me began
to drop,
sink into myself
and what else?
(this is my 12th house)

 I wake up in his forearm
              biting through his moles
                  to get to you.

“first wave/grief”

all day long
I vacillate. build intention.
maybe I move
a couple steps forward
or skirt one craving
and I applaud myself for days.
my knees get some desperate rest
or my body gets water
but it’s followed by immediate
withdrawal.
indulgence,  glutton
three walks:
four coffees, twelve cookies
and noticing the worst
of your core qualities loudly.

cherished: my leisure,
my habits, beloved
hermeticism and my ability to
make believe;
find  double meaning
of everything. I’m really just walking,
compulsive ambivalence.
I shrug.
sip the coffee

let the wind take me.

“MDD”

under my therapist’s guidance,
I switch chairs to talk
to my inner predator.
now now listen to the guilt,
  it’s talking,

I decided to have some boundaries;
lined the edges of my bed with
geranium and lilac threads,
lined the sills with limonium.
my tub dripped nightl:,
altar of salt and lavender.
watched my toes glide to the surface
by a dozen votives.
forgot everything.

my entire winter
was littered with
shards of celestite
and low violin.
I could see the sky when I wanted
from my dining room table
or on a brisk walk
to pick up oranges and Earl Gray
for the morning.
but I mostly stayed in my
warm hole.
rediscovered medicine in prayer
and herb and
open mourning.

on walks, I held
one shout in my throat
in an effort to
pacify myself.
protect myself from myself.
it’s so tiring;
anorexia with
insatiable mouth.
planned outfits.
a  mandible chest.
I return to the chair,

I plan to spend the year
fat, fed…
replete in web
and feast.

“gestalt”

I carried little pieces of God
everywhere;
pine needle,
robin feather,
baby jasper,  besides the
straws, I liked
natural things; Earth
to touch during
sedentary moments
to quell the fidget inside.
today, a pint-sized celestite
I broke off from a bigger
cluster on the windowsill
to twirl in my skittish fingers. 

I am surrounded by repentant men
who have a wolfish outline.
my “allies.”
fellow addicts.
I nod when they say
they feel a guilt greater
than their desire.
they usually begin with things
like
I took advantage of her
and I cross my legs.

I am wearing brown tights, brown
heeled boots and a cream turtleneck
sweater dress.  my hair is
short, uncombed and strange
and I am mostly plain.
I wear light blush, mascara and
chapstick but I don’t spend much
time about it.
it is important as a woman
to catalog what you were wearing
and how you generally look
in any moment.
also I had gained some weight
before I  rediscovered
starvation.
when you tell the audience the story
they can gauge their reaction better.
were you homely, girl?

I was neither homely nor
exceptional, a frozen
brown blob blending
into the cream walls
and watching the blue chips
of nail polish flake onto
the floor. as he spoke
of his life of
trespassing,
I suddenly found my hands
to be urgent,
needing my full attention.

and remembering the whisper
of the woman who shushed
the girl who shared her rape
in a room just like this,
I watched a speck of light blue
crystal join the floor,
watched the tiny celestite break.

“fury”

———