stars on the ceiling
missing out on
the florid and melodramatic twilights outside
the stars out there are gold and glorious like
goddesses with their disguises flung off
assuming their true celestial homes
similarly,
my body and soul are two separate entities
that remain six feet apart from one another
knocked apart by the explosion that killed who i used to be

gentle wind
cold as we sit, and i pull my sleeves up over my palms
as a barrier to the world
it’s a glitch
—a habit i’m still failing to break
the good key lies in the soul of the one who holds that key
i am all locked up now
just how it looks
like tree trunks in the snow
sleek and readily fanciful
i want to push them all down the hill

except, in appearance, they are firmly wedded to the ground
and they are individuals
but the only thing that hasn't changed already is the train tracks by her house
and those planks of wood are collectively sorrowful
who even understands what a goodbye means these days?
it’s a glitch

i’m the one who put ribbons around the white necks of the public doves

i saw
a track without a train
but does that mean
it’s changed?
trolley problem except the people are dead at the start
which ones do you save?
glitch

it’s a glitch
it’s broken pearls and hammers all day
“she’s making wings again
wooden wings
—they won’t fly”
but you can’t stop me from jumping off the roof,
you know i have to try

it’s a glitch, it’s just a glitch

still tucking myself into closets and cupboards and slow-cooking pots of rice
i make endless cups of coffee and dump most of them in my front yard
my soulmate watches from the window
but one day i will find the thing that doesn’t change
i’ll catch the garment that the moon will shed and wear it like a shroud
invisible rainbow all the time
like mistaken, fawn-colored beauty; or a blind rage

yellow sign
private property
someone just beyond, screaming obscenities
bubblegum on silver

tell me how to balance my life
talking, nearly falling from the tree
by the elementary
still tucking myself into old schoolbooks and pencil sharpeners and washed-away chalk
i am a domino on an altar
quartz in the mouth
i remind myself to roll up my sleeves again

so artfully taken away, my smithereens
the gifts i laid at the feet of the dead queen
it felt like
a glitch
a calf at the wooden fence, flies milling around the eyes
a familiar face among passerby
a picket sign that reads “**** the rich”
broken pearls, hammers, long sleeves
a glitch

just how it looks
like tree trunks in the snow
sleek and readily fanciful
i want to push them all down the hill
a glitch if they let me
it’s a glitch

I sat at an old poet’s desk with blank paper in front of me
As she reread his text
It was as if we were whales in the dark
Singing above the telephone wires
And neither of us could feel the water around us

I sat at an old poet’s desk with blank paper in front of me
As she reread his text
Trying to coax flames from a lighter, sparks
To set everything in the world on fire
When it happens my palms will have been covered in dust

I sat at an old poet’s desk with blank paper in front of me
As she reread his text
She got up and went into the closet
When her phone rang she made it sound dire
I wasn’t good enough to be the supportive friend

Later, she asked how soundproof the wall was, I said I heard nothing
And she sighed with relief
But I had been staring at the ceiling
Listening to her crying quietly
And it was ironic, neither of us slept that night

I sit at an old poet’s desk with this paper in front of me
And I kind of want to die
Because the world is drifting apart
And the fractals are raining from the sky