I believe in altar.
I believe in altar.
I believe in altar.
I believe in altar.
I believe in altar.
I believe in altar.
I believe in altar.
I believe in altar.
I believe in altar.
I believe in altar.
I believe in altar.
I believe in altar.
I believe in altar.
“how guys save me in their phone #13”
carried with her
a weapon: her keys in hand,
a disarming speech pattern
and no reason to suspect
her about anything.
I never tell a lie,
she said
leading me to
someone else’s house.
(how do you get away with that?)
I just never finish the story,
she said and I
hung there like a
Christmas ornament
glistening in her iris.
“How guys save me in their phone #12”
good profile.
have never seen her hair
she was
wearing a platinum blonde wig
when I met her and
then a brown one and then
a head scarf,
floral, purple, I
remember.
bangs peeking out but
the rest an
all black everything
including dress,
boots and nails,
eyes lined like soot
tracing the chimney top,
and she was a
studious observer,
a witch.
told me she “burned a sigil”
for this and then she
licked her lips
(think about me)
touched her nails to her tongue
(listen to me)
ran her wet nails down
her neck
(wait for me)
and I’ve just been waiting.
“How guys save me in their phone #11”
nice figure and
sharp glances.
obsessed with her wrinkles when
passing window.
thirty three years old and can’t seem to
thwart her own self persecution.
but an alpha.
told me to sit down on the bed.
told me to lay face down on the bed.
told me to consent.
said she liked ass play
and pegging and
doing things in pieces.
“how guys save me in their phone #10”
mood swings,
kind of mired in
a circular prophecy
that she keeps repeating.
silent in spurts,
frozen when alarmed but
then bursts in and says to
me: “are you fucking
watching me?”
like we’ve been talking
all this time.
“how guys save me in their phone #9”
made me walk to her house
and collect stones along the way.
said she was building something.
my pockets and fingers were dirty
and when I arrived,
she was sitting, arms crossed
and
“throw that conch shell away.”
when I asked about the stones,
she looked perplexed.
said to throw those away too.
“sisyphus” or “how guys save me in their phone #8”
stay as close to God as possible.
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“I am still learning the local law:
don’t hurt something that can smile,
don’t hold any grief except your own.”
–kaveh akbar, apology
I once tried to pretend I didn’t have any obsessions or fixations like the way you ignore a mole that grew on your shoulder or the ache in your knee or the clicking of your jaw, you just pretend.
“It’s all in the mind.”
and I didn’t write it down on a note or in my phone, I just stated it out loud. then I would state things.
“ I can control this.”
that felt better. no notes. just statements. but what about the witnesses? I needed witnesses. my walks were long and meandering and thoughtless but suddenly, I would tap someone. I need a witness to existence.
“Can you tell where Walgreens is?”
and then I would turn left at the light and buy the tonic water and trudge home. no notes. no notes. and I would sit on my couch and grip the corners and just sit there. no notes, not writing it. but then the energy, mania, and now I am rearranging the closets and I am checking the app multiple times and I am suddenly making the playlist. making the playlist right. it has to be right or you have to start over. but no notes. of course no notes, a crescendo.
“ I listen to a lot of music,” I took one of his french fries.
“yeah? I love music.”
“you won’t after you date me.”
“the story about the music”
daturamoon.com 