consult the oracle again.

wear what you want,
let these animals control themselves
my ball of citrine says so
I put on my cat suit
and go for a walk
to catch tan in the new
big sun.   it was a long winter
of regression, repression
and lamps and the length of
my ire stretched, permanent,
coming undone on your pillow
where you wept in peace
until I blew back in,
costumed, in tank.


i’ve blown the tea lights out,
my presence is altar
sit naked in the eyeline of the fan and
spools of smoke from bamboo incense
crown my head       I am showered,
manicured, my skirt is barely an inch of fabric
containing my pubic bone or
buttox so they’re on it.
I dab some tiger’s eye oil and jasmine
on my wrists

brush their arms with
my nails, cut through centers,
stop absentmindedly to change song
and let
their thighs press my thighs,
their forearms hit mine.
it’s the invitation I am waiting
for and in the city there are
ambulances wailing all over town
carrying victims of stroke
with blood pointing to their throat and
they feel the beat of wings
before they feel
my hands wrap their larynx
and the first thing they tell me:

you’re full of secrets.

“catcalls”

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