I am God-drawn and celibate
and obsessively testing myself.
my spirit is a black, coughing cat
disguising herself as an entire pack
of wolves.

I wake up every morning
surrounded by thin air,
someone else’s hesitation,
and it used to be blood I was after,
but now it’s just a taste
of the way I can feel someone else’s heartbeat all day
from this distance.
how many ways can I write
I want to touch you sometime.
tell me, I know who owns me

I can’t be near any of my electronics
without them suddenly bursting into
there’s something shooting from my fingertips.
and everyone is starting to feel it,
see it,
chase it down the stares.
pulsate like a self-contained earthquake,
I’m carrying two people inside of me;
your craving and indecision
snakes my spine every day
and you won’t even talk about it.
my heart is pulsing, pulsing, pulsing.
when will it just break?
will you come show me how to break it
or take it easy?
and if I even hear your name,
forget it,
the streetlights wink.

I drove through ghosts and
all of middle Earth
to get here;
to lean into the sharp points
of middle hurts
to heat you in the dead of winter with
my flesh,
my tongue is lightning
and I’ve been hand writing thank you cards again.

I’ve been practicing self-immolation since the
recovery stopped working.
marauding around the Conoco station with
two kinds of Plan B in my pocket.
searching for your shadow,
waiting for high noon.
I’m the paper bell you inspected,
glued glitter hearts all over,
licked like an envelope being set somewhere else
and ultimately flung from the shelf.
in true poet’s parlance,
nothing but death, soot palms, a trash can full of worst thoughts
one pen, colossal regret,
charcoal-colored romance with the
murdered children to prove it.
kamikazes are soldiers too.

                                          (give him the truth)

I crave the fumes and blood orange sting
that the flashy hara-kiri brings.
I burned every state I planned to escape in
and left a trail to my house in case
you feel a sudden draft and forget which way is
west, and which girl is calling you back.
I’m hot, more hell than not,
and parts of me are starving for a little extra
vibration. I want you to grab me by the waist and know
the way it tastes when I finally whisper how sorry I am
to have never, ever changed, and
I lick up each inch of your veins
as you spill to me your own plans of departure.
you were on a mission to soul search too.

boy, I could find you anywhere
so I am patient that this will unfold better than
God first planned it.
but first
let me climb right on your pyre
and let you have a look inside.

I’m sure you can also find yourself there.




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