pretty eyes, electric bills
no still life, no blue periods
woman of willendorf, venus de milo:
wrapped in a blanket, a waist-down drop sheet
exorcise the last work you made in my apartment
klein’s blue covering your body by the fire
drunk and defining objectification
staring at pairs of lips in a painting
painting your lips in the mirror in the evening
just made vegan banana muffins with peanut butter icing and I’m worried I’m going to eat them all tonight
i had tofu scramble for breakfast and then i bought nuts and then i bought vegetables and fruit and now i’m cleaning and everything is GREAT, i feel really good today and i think it’s because of my medication but i can’t tell if it’s because it’s fixing my sleeping patterns (by me having to wake up and take it) or because it’s fixing my energy levels (because it’s replacing my thyroid) oh well whatever happy monday
a dream in which I hide beneath
my mother’s blanket: I try to keep
away from the light, away from the heat,
but it burns through the flowers and reddens my cheeks.
a dream in which they drag my body
up from the well: I see and feel,
but I can’t tell them that, because now I can’t breathe.
a dream in which I learn to taste words
and something goes wrong while they put me to sleep:
iodine sits in my mouth like a food that I always refused to eat.
the hospital gowns and caps and masks
float off in the ocean, and we’re all in deep,
but the nurses keep treading water,
the needles keep coming, they hide and seek.
I think about counting but don’t reach three.
a dream in which I’m inside a home:
a boat is beating against my door
and I float on my back towards the noise
but it’s safer in here where the sea stays warm
and I can’t feel the blast if that blast ever comes,
can’t see the rain if it blackens the stones.
a dream in which I’m inside a house:
the floorboards are swollen, my feet are red-raw,
and I’m drawing circles in salt on the floor.
the gutter is clean, but underneath
the streams are more full than they’ve been for three weeks
light from the street lamp bounces up
at your feet from the ground
punches your silhouette down
reflects off your knuckle-bound keys
at home you ran in high heels
scratched at your face between meals
tapped at the sink for two hours
waited for the water to wear a hole
the car speeding past is screaming your name,
you could’ve sworn. you could swear you felt
a fly leave your mouth. you fix your lips
praying there’s nothing on the other side
of the black glass. don’t make eye contact
with anyone you pass. you look for signs of life
and let your body seek heat
a neon sign in the distance tells you to eat