im a liar
watching my men like clocks

overturning the ace of swords,
things just have to start and

the come up is hard. sometimes it is better if I am moving. depends on how much I swallow.  I had never taken all caps until today. when I took the rest of them, I did it with a bottoms up approach. throw to the wind.  c’est la vie or c’est la tien. before it started I made sure I was hydrated but not much else. definitely not fed. you want blood: c’est la tien.  now I am dancing, taking long strides across my hardwood floor to get to the other side then back.  I have pushed the dining room table aside. I have pushed the chairs in. I am moving my shoulders up and down. I am in agreement with myself, stretching fingers, preparing. 

it feels like a tendril wrapping you to begin. the surrender is subtle. it is the faintest buzz from within moving all ways like a metamorph, the pressure of a wave slapping the water below at different intervals.  think of a spiral staircase but made of density or air and pulses, like jelly,  to move quietly around the entire length of yourself. and with different velocities. or pausing.  you are done dancing and now focused on the brightness of your eyes in the mirror and the lineament of your eyebrows, expanding. you have traced the upper lid with black pencil again and you have made your eyes more almond. you have learned to draw sharp points. you are focused on your pores that you refuse to shade completely, immured in the image of yourself spotty but realized true. the bags under your eyes. the lips, full but dry and the teeth: new, sparkling, your pride.  your smile is crooked. it has begun to wrap your feet already as you think

some times you can look in the mirror and it’s best to do it when you can. 

other times I have told myself not to look. specifically. before it starts, I remind myself that the mirror can be a haunting place. it is not so much that your face will warp, as it might, but that you will see yourself while also grappling with incongruencies. you might be wrong about everything. your face reflects it quickly.  I move away from the mirror feeling only a tingle of joy moving up my thighs. it is close, not here. it is arriving. c’est la tien. I recalled my notes from  last time briefly:

when I laugh
I feel illustrated

however this felt a gloom
in its indelibility,
intense and unabashed.
  I was hoping
for a little charm,
of course. but lets
get to it. 

“first wave”

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