Part 1:

The Act of Naming Things

“ I once was a sleeping ocean that in
a dream became jealous of a pond.”

–Adrienne Rich

sitting on the edge of the bay
on a borrowed blanket,
I was vomiting up an everclear slurpee
and some sort of philosophy
about the closing of the day;
the way it moved,
death
like an itinerant wave that followed me
and only me
everywhere I went.
the ocean whispered
and I heard you cough,
felt myself starting to drown again
and your hand on my thigh
and then nothing at all.

pain subsides in very
miniscule amounts
of time if  you don’t
repeat
the
story.

do not repeat the story

“how to be a river”

or

sit in it.

“how to be a lake”


and turning to you again, I
implore you to pick a title and
stick with it. for me, I say:
do you like warnings or do you
like to drown?

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