baths are my only sanctuary.
it’s snowing all the time.
I begin bleeding with every new moon
and I begin pouring the blood
in the water and offering it
to her.
I began to draw her in
trees.
began to draw her on white paper
with black sharpie and
always turning into a split
tree trunk no matter
where I started;
an entrance in
the middle, gaping
like an open sore,
the desolate black forest.
the way I held on
to five seconds of
an arm embracing me
near a cold window,
one stare;
red and in heat
all winter.
more
this demand grew
windingup my body
as I began to move furniture
in rave.
placed framed sentences
on every ledge.
trinkets on sills
to gaze at them
blinds open
under moon. their
effect on me terrifying
when glinting or silhouetted,
or under influence.
at dusk, I was under
influence and large.
every night.
the den was lit with 7 to
9 candles.
room sharp and casting
shadows everywhere.
me, walking through
them, chanting.
repeating phrases.
burning pages
from a journal.
no recollection of what I
said or wrote
or asked for.
“the candles”
the night we met
I was hopeless,
two friends in tow;
one who wanted to
throw me on the bed by the
neck and fuck me,
and the other someone safe.
my hair was jet black and
I still remember your awkward
interjection to finally speak
a word to me.
my eyebrow cocked,
perfectly incorrigible and still quite
devout but to nothing.
or to a doorknob if
needed as the aphorism goes.
just the fervent pray to cleanse
me day after day after day.
itching to be
under the feet
of anyone.
look there.
your eyes are crystal blue.
I began to fall in love.
1.
it was morosity
that ran in the family.
I sat down to the orange tablecloth,
my spanish deck set
laberinto
every light out,
about sevcn candles it
and a roller coaster kind of
high, grief taking years to
fully form outside of me,
a birthday present for us,
Matt
and pulled the first card,
the sun reversed
i’ll always remember that.
october 19th, 2016 and my
brother is dead.
I swallow a finger full of his
ashes from the black and
white genie bottle I
keep him in and
let the ritual begin.
“the rituals’
you were given a choice.
you chose this road
first, then the
present.
become an alcoholic to
find a higher power.
meditate occasionally .
fill the emptiness with Oreos,
coffee,
a smoking habit you detest
but gives your fingers something to
do when you’re speaking anxiously
in public,
caffeine rearranging your
tongue into metaphors and you
need a moment of pause,
clarifying to the audience
with a descriptor you
previously forgot
and the story: winding,
inexplicably always
out of order.
run a 5K every three weeks
to give yourself a mission:
get back in shape,
hone your vision of
yourself.
bathe everyday.
tell the cat you love her
and pet her for an extra few minutes
before you walk for hours
to lose those new found vowels
completely.
pluck out your dead ends
hiding in a stealth spot.
begin a practice of voyeurism.
sit comfortably and
file your nails into sharp points.
lean into them.
write everything down.
start ordering your steak rare:
inhale the lost veal,
the lost zeal of an entire feedlot;
the scent of plasma and cud.
devour a a squealing colony
without remorse.
give cannibalism a chance.
you’re talking to yourself in public again.
the looks from the other patrons
don’t bother you.
you remember them with skinned knees on
bathroom tile; your stomach in
velvet knots,
your obsessive purge.
you remember them peering at you
in courtrooms,
you remember them in handcuffs,
in shackles,
side eyes as you make a scene
at the open bar, or get someone’s date to
carry it all:
vodka soda,
you lick his ear
like your boyfriend isn’t even there.
it’s not the groom you want
or ceremony you despise,
it’s the bride.
the way you’ve stolen and
groveled afterwards.
the way they held
onto those wrongs and their
condescending pats on the back
withdrawn.
how you’ve managed to
survive it all with gratitude,
without much impact,
you’ve suddenly risen
to their ranks.
get your wisdom teeth removed
and then
cut them into daggers.
check out Home Depot,
ask for “industrial size”
ignore all the
are you ok ?
you’re muttering again.
read the directions.
this stuff is toxic.
don’t get it on your eyelids.
press the bone back into your sockets,
flick the canines,
gotta be solid.
smile:
you’re still celibate.
you’re still hungry;
avaricious,
less slovenly from
all the exercise,
less addled than before
and armored like the night.
go back to the diner.
lick your plate.
click your tongue.
you showed them how
starvation’s done.
you showed them how to roam.
you put your money where your
mouth is glued into
your gums.
your lips are lined with
homemade knives,
you begin to teach
them how to
move again.
you begin to chew more
loudly.
Miss?
now that your dysphagia’s
done, you’re gonna smile
wide.
show them your veneers,
Ms. Salt and tell them
what you want.
I want it now.
“Veruca Salt”
I sit in my summer
suit even though the cold
is here: golden sequined top
and burgundy pants,
loose, wide and a
lavender shawl wrapping
my bare shoulders,
surrounded by
furry purring cats
lying on their backs to
paw my finger as I
toss coins on a giant
white quartz that has been stroked
by my friends and
three candles on the floor.
an Orgonite pyramid.
I’m experiencing a mild
tinnitus and a spectrum
of truths so I’m
trying to clear some
space for a violent
upheaval.
I offer you change and
fire.
It’s February first,
I pray to all lords
but I have an affinity
for wind and
glowering airs.
if you asked what I wished for:
nothing, an endless
seeking nothing.
“Szelanya” or “(Oya)”
sometimes buildings just catch on fire.
you say I’m always nervous
and when I lie I look away really
fast. and you know
I fucked your friends
and you know I’ll fuck some more
and you see me on the screen
my name is Artemis.
parting lips, combing bangs,
practicing inflection as I said
I would.
you said you’ll always remember
the way I laughed LOUD
and so sudden
touch his shoulder
like you were the funniest man in
the room.
and I’ll always remember
the way the door frame dripped
and bled to one sorrel-orange.
it’s not that you said yes.
you said “ok”
succumbing
kind of folding,
tempering and allowing
which is the way I like
my men to lean.
exasperated as i
walked across the welcome mat
throwing matches as you swept.
“how guys save me in their phone #1”
it’s Monday night and
a candle is
lit. I open
the first bill
just to see someone
say my name.
“January 4, 2016”
I let him fuck me sometime in March and then called him out in April. spent a few weeks somber but joined a softball team, got my wisdom teeth removed in May and fucked my ex on a friends couch under the influence of painkillers. had a thing with a couple friends over the summer as I continued to beat myself. before I met up with your boy again at a party where he ran his hands through my jet black hair, I really untaped the mirror.
he commented on the color and was hooked. invited me to a party, probably to cheat on his girl and this is the end of 2015 cuz I need to hurry up and get to the part where we met.
there’s really nothing much to note.
“2015″
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