I believe in overflowing
chalice.  you believe in
holding space for growl
and distance and
your wife at night.

you watch me lay the
dill in bowl, line the bed
with tourmaline.
run the bath with
chamomile and yarrow oil.
it’s all for nothing,
you found me but
I am full of tincture now.
the best defense is
to cripple yourself
like victim.
they call me two games at once
and two friends at once and
crocodile tears and I trace the beast’s
jaws with your pointer finger
so you can feel the heat of my
thigh as I distort my face
into something moved by
real feeling.
I walk for miles:
slow and black and
hungry.
I am game.

you’ve been watching
jaguars move:
you’ve been memorizing motion,
I’ve been draping myself in Apollo’s
arms and
storm so you can see and
feel me as I traipse across the forest
floor waiting to be found.
my tonsils growing
chelicerae,
my rib cage growing legs,
my bottom becoming fat
with thread and
I know what you like
and I know that
you are game.
you are writhing
game in tiny, tiny
snowflake threads
hung far above the
ground.

in winter
it is long and dark
and hard to contain
myself.
reaching,
hidden by
the wind, I am
lucid and hoping
but also malaised
and still seeking
an ancient revenge.
you watch me prey;
sip the drip of
the effulgent crescent
bulb I worship.
I hide my sulk
in strut and I mask things,
like sweetness or
consideration of the others in
your life. I am
dripping accusations down
my lips as you
learn each line of my
palm and you begin to draw
your duplicity out
for me.

you didn’t want to
be so right.
I become the
distance: the chasm–
scorned red bath,
the woods,
the bottom.
you are my
gun I am walking
quietly behind on a long trail
full of what we said
and old venom
and new thoughts but still
most obsessed with
improbable ideas of us;
the endless provision,
it ends on a bridge,
my body swollen,
tear-streaked and stretching.

I am always someone’s
secret.

you said trust
and I stepped backwards on the
slippery ledge
waiting to see
if I can fly.
picked out

thirty names to call
our daughter before my body
hit the bottom.

“datura moon”

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