I spent an hour in that graveyard,
sobbing openly over a child
named Catarina.
I held my hands out to the
trees and told her I was
so sorry for pushing her
down the well.

returned to my slanted
cat piss house covered in
tarot cards, my smattering
of piecing the way I push
and pull and you,
a mirror in the afternoon
sunlight;, now pink in a yellow room
from the rectangular stained glass
windows that I watch move
as I lay naked on the floor,
let my neck rest,
so deserving, all day
tense and up and vigilant
and watch the glitter coat
the ceiling. let my
mind race to empty

and it felt dramatic,
the walk there and back
and the way I stated it
like that as I threw my arms
out to Ebby, I am back
from the graveyard
and ok, no falling,
my biggest fear is
falling off the Earth,
I’m talking to myself

unsure of what had passed
over me I began to draw
myself large and
cartoonish, figure myself
against a backdrop
as I let the sweat
roll off my back.
she beckons.
throw change on the floor
and make way for an assiduous
pursuit of more but
she only gives me one future
and that is a rift
that I have caused.
I wrote some other epiphany somewhere
right? in my large sketchbook,
it’s all

phrases like the way
systems reflect larger pictures.
we’re all in conflict now.
we’re all detainees or holding keys
and then longer processes:
in one lifetime, I’ve collected
several horror stories especially
if you tell them from the
bug’s perspective, as I’ve been
known to switch

narrative
direction and you didn’t
cross my mind at all the day
of August in my sweat,
the last confirmation that I was
scared to feel a void so deep
the only word to
muster, God.

like falling.
coming down is
like falling into
the fourth wave
which is waking up
but you have to be careful
what you say.

also be careful what
you think.

“fourth wave”

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