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  • “Name your torture,”
    one of them said
    with a wink.

    I wanted an orchard
    but I swallowed the vodka
    he handed me
    willingly.

    “The Gorge”

  • spiders line every corner of my house,
    there is honey coating my back
    porch, trail of ants
    fat with offering
    waddle in,

    find the underside of my sink
    fat with thread.

  • im on drugs all the time,
    call it
    the


    “page of cups”

  • this next section is called: grief.

    ______________________________________________________

    sit down prepared.
    as in, I am not shaking
    and I have no plans to hurt
    myself.
    “what brings you into the
    emergency room today?”

    I planted nightshade
    in the community garden.

  • maybe it’s the click of the heels that drives me. how I know  my hips match the clack of the faux leather five inch calf high boots. the process. the metronomy. it’s the walk. the noise cancelling pads on my ears. the rhythm that I begin to step into as I  turn my headphones up. 

    as I begin to turn the corner, he turns the corner. and it’s the crescendo. the drums. it’s a little bit of psilocybin and edible. it’s a long time coming. something about trauma and the terms thrust upon me. arithmomaniac. neurodivergent. special. little bit of timing. I turn my headphones up. he’s ten feet in front of me and I am a slow
    beating
    saunter
    behind
    and very special.

    “the woman who followed the men”

  • your house was yellow.

    my house was blue and
    a ten by ten box;
    me trapped,
    torn between watching them
    pack up their stuff
    from their own pact to self,
    their own inculpability,
    fragile glass faces
    slightly cracked and me,
    stunned,dripping a
    flattening virulence,

    telling them about themselves,
    breaking and then
    pushing them out.


    I really miss your hands on me.
    the way you held me in
    sullen incubation.
    I remember the oldest incantation:
    the thrust I was given,
    some gleaned anticipatory luck:
          God gave you a chance and

                  an unfinished smile.

    we needed a spark.
    I grin full tooth to show you
    my new porcelain canines.
    now the frame is melting
    and so am I
    in the cradle of tar black trees,
    I fight the urge to bow
    and suddenly tiptoe
    all around you;
    two inches taller than you remember
    and my tongue hits your neck
    like a quill.

    hold your breath,
    I say and
    baby,
    I’m a smokeshow, they say.
    wait
    for some other current to take me.
    bite your skin.
    let the tips of my
    fingers dig in and

      there are no exits.

    “chrysalis”

  • sharp glances.
    deep in her wrinkles when
    passing windows.
    can’t seem to
    thwart her own self persecution
    and it shows in voluble shivers;
    affirmations she mumbles as
    she grabs the cuffs from
    the table..

    told me to sit down on the bed.
    told me to lay face down on the bed.
    told me to put my hands behind my
    back. told me to
    consent and
    said she liked hearing stop,
    the thud of impact,
    prattling remorse
    and doing things
    slowly,
    in pieces.


    with repetition.

    “how guys save me in their phone #11”

  • I plan to spend the year
    fat; armored,
    replete in web
    and feast.

    “Arachne”

  • I am practicing the arch of my eyebrow and black lipstick, smooth,  without proper training which can be messy. both of these places on my face need work and today, I  take the angled brush and dip into the brown powder. small amount. take the q-tip because I always need it. find an aristocratic line. take the Carmex. make it smooth. take the tube. smile. suck my finger. (remember you). see a black ring. take the rag and wipe it. purse my lips. my cheekbones are a subtle brown called darling and everything else about me is real southern.

    “hello,” I practice.

    my dress is collared white but everything else black–boots, stockings, gloves, hood.  it’s tepid out. I don’t need any real or mock wool. everyone is out and that makes this easier. I am volcanic.

    “hello,” I say to a little girl dressed like a princess.

    brush her father’s arm. don’t turn around. you already know.

    “halloween”

  • first. i took the mushroom.
    then i took the edible
    then i took the skullcap.
    then i took the mugwort.
    then the house started to vibrate
    and the voices began. the lurching
    of the stomach, the interminable
    wave pool, and with such
    stupor.
    then I met Mike.

    so your own magic potion worked
    against you?

    “Mike”

  • the second time a man on the street
    gave me his inhaler which caused an adrenaline
    rush which caused my legs to move uncontrollably,
    violently, but first, I was kettled by a swat team.
    no, first a tank threw tear gas at me.
    no, first a cop stood on the neck of George Floyd
    and pressed hard and broadcast his malice
    for the world.

    and then I felt the floor
    fall out of my living room,
    crawled to the front door
    until I got to the corner
    where a man gave me his inhaler
    and called 911.

     then I met Carey.

    “Carey”

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