I blew back east
in a tempestuous race
to meet myself
and abandoned this idea
immediately.

I’m dreading return.
Im homesick
but at this point,
I don’t know which state is home
so I face forward and try to
relaaax
as my mother says:
“Live in the now.”
But now is a terrible time to wake up
so I panic from some memory,
some Plan B,
some pelvic ceiling
that’s trapped me in it’s base
and just turned all sorts of
black,
all sorts of mad,
all sorts of dazed
like a basement orphan suddenly escaped and is trying
her steering wheel riding the high seas of
outer space with no compass,
no plan for later.
That must be me.

I dated Mars;  a cool, cold, rusty kettle calling me
scarred.
We were both rising to a steady boil,
water in our corroded veins
pouring  out cups of
covert slaps,
insults,
 dusky moans when the moon touched down
on our windowsill and we remembered we once knew how to say
“love” before we said:

                                        oh, since you know which way is North and all

and blowing off steam in a car built for

                                             I know more than you could ever guess

one.

and I’m making demands
and empty threats about heading south for every consecutive bout
of bad, bluey blues
once we reach the eastern bend,
I’m off to a warmer coast
to raise my thoughts
and become the fourth kind
and I’m ghost.
And I’m swearing

                                             No fucking problem

I want to say I am sorry and wrap my hands around your wheel
and drive us off a cliff before we ever get there
but I told someone I would meet them in Brooklyn and
I am too

                                                        fuck you again

fucking proud
to die without saying

                                                Bon Voyage

I will see them again.

Where’s God once you get off that cotton candy cloud?
Everywhere
but you have to dig deep inside of yourself
to understand the difference between wishes and
facts.
Our heads are yelling murderer, you, not me!
our car is a rolling coffin,
a detrained uterus,
nightmare catcher,
bleak box of metal death
and our lungs are full of
rushing water
that tastes like a semi-relapse.

                                       It’s just kombucha and blasphemy, babe, calm down

I’m sinking in a kettle of rubber,
drowning fetus,
insatiable hunger
that plunges us further into one another
and our screams are so smothered in wheels
in burnt charcoal rubble
but we remembered to pray today
so we’re covered.
Our mouths make no sound but our hearts split in two
like my womb would be too
had I went through with the truth and the sky is so smoky, so bare,
so blue and so
loud
that I can only hear one heartbeat thumping in my chest
but I feel a wave of red on the ground.
And I am empty of my past as my mother assured me
would happen when I finally tell someone
what I wanted without
apology.

I am emptied of now.

“homecoming”

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