asleep
quickly caffeinated and ******
filled with panic
watching  "a day in the life" youtube videos
of a human who is not turning into moss
seeking reassurance
finding it insufficient
distracting with hundreds of 6-second videos
drugging the hippocampus offline
the relief of crossing a day off the calendar
and floating out of consciousness

quarter of a century.
very little accomplished.
but the gentle, the weary, the broken ones
do not turn away when you are near
and that's all you ever really wanted

with a capital H (Him)
no, not a god
but a ruler
a masculine power i see all around me
Him
meaning mean
meaning me. ten.
Him, again.
intruding in my face, in my head.
in my bed.
him, many men.
again, again.
my stomach swims
he spreads.
at 25 cant sleep in bed
without a knife, melatonin, and gabapentin
Him.
hypervigilant
when will he begin again?
I look for Him in friends, in men
underneath anyone could be Him
when anger sprouts
and my lover shouts
or when he teases, or grabs, or doubts
i think he's Him, i've lost again
my  radar lacking adequate detection
i panic, i freeze, i run, i scream
i tell him I know he's hiding Him
he lives within
he promises he's all himself
but my world is shadowed in multiple layers
my lover and Him are both there
overlapped like a map with multiple variables
how can i not fear
how can i not carry this
how can i trust my judgments
how can i distrust my judgments
how can i be sure he's not around the corner
inside my lover
waiting for me to rest
to let go, to drop my shoulders, show my soul
so he can grasp and twist and maul
all with a smile
and a later denial
"it wasn't me, maybe it was Him"

looking in--wood beams lie flat along the ceiling
i look flat when i look at me the way i am not supposed to look at me
like i am perched upon a wood beam on the ceiling
like i am a cameraman, or an evaluator, or a lover
i transform, wax, but moving
remembering the cues, the lines, the x's

looking in-- cushions hunch the arch of my back
i am full and curved and dimensional in disturbing ways
i am perched on the wood but i can hardly continue my gaze
things are puffed and jutting in ways that bring disgust
even words spill out in asynchronous patterns
and i wonder who the **** is guiding this sorry woman.

looking out-- nothing to recount.

my students describe me as gentle.
kind. tender. humane.

my professors describe me as flighty.
fickle. erratic. inconstant.

my dad describes me as selfish.  
inconsiderate. uncaring. money-grubbing.

my mom describes me as wise.
sharp. insightful. far-sighted.

my brother describes me as mysterious.
puzzling. hidden. weird.

my sister describes me as honest.
candid. upfront. sincere.

kind & uncaring.
far-sighted & erratic.
hidden & candid.

my lover describes me as perfect.
sublime. brilliant. unrivaled.

i hesitate to describe me, settle at imperfect.
and sublime. brilliant. unrivaled.

all of the above. none of the above.
aside from all of the above.

imperfect. sublime. brilliant. unrivaled.
flawed. exalted. profound. inimitable.
faulty & ideal.
defective & magic.
me.

it rains
i take adderall and cannot sleep
in pursuit of upkeep of identity

my job is *****
i have worms under my fingernails
so i drug myself to write about diet
and then i wake up to grow food

i wonder how vast your  love is
if i become ugly, fully hog buried
will you truly call me a piece of you?

i have multiple identities
yours, amy's, ukelele's, mary oliver's
i have to move my eyes around to heal
bring it all up and look at it until i am steady

i am trying to decide whether i should give into rejection
not by me, not by you, but by us
the fit is not correct; too expansive, too suffocating

when i came to the warmth i lost my shell
but i gained other markers later
at first tumbling backward
but maybe it was bouncing forward

the leaves change and  i am shushed
in orange i realize all exists outside of evaluation
i must only let the soft animal of my body love what it loves

white burning upper lip
sea blue head
orange and black mumbles in the background
my connection to the green
cannot save me
though it beats against the grey
my couch is tan
with a hole from a knife
frustration displaced
today is more yellow
people looked at me and talked
they kept thinking I was lost
I felt the need to assert my clarity
an elevator opened to teal
and a swarm of T-shirt’s across the spectrum
I walked thru them and wondered
what they thought of me
me being body and behavior
not the me that cries and yells over the phone
closeness is red
closeness is terror and anxiety
in the crowd I control my image
living with you steals this
I don’t want to be seen
but my hair is blue
and my mustache is absent,
components in place to hold their gaze.

I wish to be honest and unashamed about the totality of my experiences and to always assume their humanness in an effort to minimize the illusions of separateness that come from my judgements of my reality

i so search
my fingers clench
your softening eyes
demand unity
the looking cross
throughout the days
the growing fear
the realizations of the endless
boundaries of this home
how to ensure
how to ignore
my imagined pains
to know the proximity
is to run away from distance
to not want a blink
was never considered
but here
your softened eyes
my fingers rest

to be with you is to be dust
to disperse and float
to be minuscule and ever reaching all at once
to settle and be sent all by a look from you

to be with you is to be sand
heavy and wet in your crashing
light and forgiving in your light
turning to glass in your heat
to feel you looking through

writing poetry in the back of quantitative methods
I don't want to get too metaphysical
can we?
the abstract is where I left my bags
I can't find my way back
there are no entryways, no guides
sometimes the trees or the colors tease
but they fall flat backward, a standing set piece
nothing for me to reach my arms into
i used to be up to my elbows
the architecture was screaming
my teachers sang in class, cried through the lessons
everything moved in speech
now I never reach the action potential
the environment slightly inflates but I do not take off
too grounded, to real, too fixated on things that are surface
I want to fly and I want to drown
to be in the thick and fight my way onto paper
to feel in metaphors and abstractions
for now, i will run an analysis of variance
and go to sleep, indefinitely

you are so dear to me. my confusion sits down in your company and spins together with your murkiness. if i had known what to call home, call love, i would have come sooner. dont call on me if I leaven. don’t call on me, I used to say. I bend over like willow in this suction and I mend all that my fingers can manage. I design, stitch pink into satin and forget the navigation I had ruptured in the past. the stems of us are laying down or blooming or moving inside but none of it matters. you matter. matter of fact it isn’t even the hum in the neck that shadows. it is the ugly closing that opens my sails to your beckoning power.

opened the french doors
to a warm front
after weeks of single digits
a blood orange in hand
dripping hair
nick drake strumming
juice bubble popped on tongue
sun in golden curls
trees suddenly spring
a line thru everything
a moment to just exist
in pink and orange shelter

it is raining.
10 am
clattering on the roof
and I am still in bed
the fog and tall southern trees
look like they are northern
like they are Maine or Washington
like I am somewhere familiar
my home is quiet
my room is blue and green
(colors I would have never chosen)
a bird caws
I am beginning to feel like I exist
that I am a part of the life here
the light is subdued
I sink further
the rain pauses, comes back
maybe I am camping
maybe I am loved

I know so much from who I used to be
and from the ones who watch over me.
As I return and cycle, root, and flow
my knowing, my innard, grows & grows.
The secrets aren’t complex. They are earth.
A knowing each person carries from birth.
I am glad to have siblings in mice & trees.
I am glad to see saplings & frosting & spring.
I am part of a unit much larger than me.
And in this I gain connection and my right to be free.

capricorn Kerri counts money
and compensates for her losses
with lots of cold hard truth

she says, you’re like
a tulip that bloomed in February
when there was still snow coming
you sprung forth in all of your glory
just to arrive in a moment
that wasn’t ready for you
and now you’re just some jutted textures
on a once ignited presence.

plant girl
you put your fingers first
you feel + forage + never finish
you dont fear morning dark
or afternoon heat
you mimic mother
embody base
use your ears
tire your feet
you are intuition
you are rolled up sleeve
sweat + technicalities, too
you watch in wonder
you support without a switch up
you move in knowledge of permanence
and all of its fleeting
you worship rock
you humble in storm
you frame in friendship
your tired has company
your turn out is everyone
your field is feeding
you forget you ever faked it
and finesse this freedom.

you are mine. and not mine. all yours.
you are the liquid white. the ink of a pinecone. i am your carrot. we lean on the sea. we rise in our melting. our love learns to swirl with our work. our barking diminished by ritual. this sweetness not sickening, enough to return to each day. your sniffles have even become meaningful. we lay in the moment and pray, in a way that is not prayer, but play. too dear for a blessing or eulogy, too close for an offering or song, too fragrant for a clearing or candle. too much to ever leave you alone.

diamonds are a naive dream
but setting up next to a river
is trimming off all of the excess

you arent impeccable
you anger, melt, chip, stain
but you self soothe

you expound, even your alternations
are within the realm of reason
you arent a liar and i wont mop you up

tomato plants drop and are  twined
we are the root, rod, flower, fruit, fiber
falling down, holding up

we are the looking glass, mirror, split
whole, humble shimmer and harsh set
we are as we aren't.

when my brother called me a lesbian for the first time
i screamed at him in  denial
though i had already half accepted this truth,
because i knew he did not mean  
"how wonderful, you see love in women",
but, "you are other and for this you should face ridicule"

years later, ive found a temporary home in bisexual
though i dont really do boxes
but allowing myself to fall fully into the way that you move
and find solace in your crooked tooth
is a level of living i'm glad i didn't deny

how humble i feel to live amongst this art
to see humans capable of creation and caring
and not quiet the rise in me that yells
"you are lovely!" "and you are lovely too!"
and how sad i feel for those who linger in the landscape
of compartmentalization and contracts of cramped couplehood

when i bob my head above the waterline,
my lungs expand to maximum capacity, and fill,
for history tells me of the uncertainty in the timing
of my next upward tumble into oxygen.

and insight feels the same way.
when my ego, superego, and id all align,
the rush of wholeness overcomes,
and i search for pens and paper
for history tells me I will soon forget
being myself ever made so much sense.

lately, in therapy,
i have been working on building a floaty
and hopefully, later, a boat
so the thrashing won't be so intense
so even if i dip under, the sun will stay in my eyeline
so i will be able to lead myself home
so i wont forget that home truly exists.

curving inward
away from the packed suitcases
moving into the rose
quiet in the bundle of the peg lights
a doll whispers about being on display
about the death of feminism
the intersections of being inatimate
stripped of covering
surrounded by cloth
the swings pout in the windows
the chill keeps farmers hands out of dirt
the frost creates in ways we cannot
and the touch of the walls is velvet
is acrylic paint, is object jutting
the onions in the pan are browning
the oil hops up and halts on stomach
everything is panneled
conglomerate, patched, zero waste
a compost larger than a parking space
imagining our solutions for landfills
imagining the reflections of who we have been
planning to leave a gift of words
to send paper across country
even egg cartons will fall
all of this will falter
all of this will crash, disburse, forget, remember
a fabric child is older than we
she is staring
unable to blink, to escape, to step back,
how lucky, to be mobile
though just having wheels or legs is not enough
how much crying will we do before we realize
we are not bound
how much longer will i pretend that i can last
when i picture you
your eyes are averted
the hiding, the distance
i want to be able to say i will wait
i wish that i could promise it to you
but i am angry
angry that you cant snap forward for us
step into what we were once building
i see that you are trying, love
i do.
i need to know if i am trying.
if i am willing, or forcing, or flowing.
all of this is nonsense in this moment.
i am not going anywhere.
but i may,
i have to let you know that i may.
it only seems fair, though it is heartbreak in letters and being stuck to stare at the weapon.
i will freeze and sit on a shelve, never age, but wear away and display the past for you. memories only molecular. memories only dust.

I am dying.
I am dying.
I am dying.
I am hoping I am making space
for something new.

there are times when i am tall
small, leaning, hidden, buried
the perception altered by emotion
the feeling of inhabiting this body
always morphing, fleeing, returning
i want to be tall and full of eye contact
i want to fill fully into this form

when my momma took her fingers
to a keyboard and slapped down #MeToo
my boyfriend saw her post and said something like
"thats a little public, yeah?"
and i said
"yeah."
because the conversation had not been normalized
and she was the first on our timeline to do it
and i am ashamed to say i felt embarrassed.
of my momma. telling her truth.
i participated in the active silence and shame.
the quiet that is full of wishing you could go.
i didnt post #MeToo,
even though i have been *****, groped, cat-called.
which parts of me are suffocating in the tightness of my lips?
where do you go to learn to speak?

trying to keep a plant alive on a black tar roof
trying to get through a window when you are a robust firefighter
trying to park a fifteen person van in reverse
trying to climb a tree with dead branches
trying to cover a tattoo with drug store makeup
trying to explain evaporation to a three year old
trying to walk in sneakers with a broken pinky toe
trying to pretend that death doesn't sit in your mind as a blinking exit sign

finally
hope isnt the only concern
and shrinking isnt the only direction
and qualifications are burning in trashcans
on sidewalks, my rings are shining,
my bells are ringing, my finger nails are
sharp.
my eyes linger on trees, my ears fiddle with
forgeting that they ever forgot
my hushed, lulled, chest power, passion put-forth
sees leaves and no bodies and no bones
my belly is a chestnut, my knuckles
are a *****, my knee caps are a cushion
and i am buckling but only to secure,
never burden, and i am a compromise
i am a mushroom, i am a fungus, i am moss
i am electron, positive, negative, charged,
changed, channeled, a room of lights, egg wash,
hardening and cracking, i am a reaction, grout, a mild wind,
a mild salsa, cayenne, dopamine, allergies,
a cat with a cold, the number nine, more&more&more&more
eager.

place my hand on fur
place my hand on mouse
i am allowed to take up
space, cyber space
how many megabytes are in this croissant?
how much time will it take to download this emotion?
you have to put me to sleep every once and a while
for i become weary and whiny and overworked
touch me
i will react at my synapse, at my screen
hold me and i will try not to overheat
search me search me
i hold the answers.

so what if i clean the house
to ease my anxiety
and if i thank jesus even though i dont think hes there
and if i bite my vegan ice cream in two tries
and if i am light on my toes
and if my memories are shaky
and if i dont think my senses are real
so what if i look in the mirror and forget who she is
whats it matter if my nails are always chipped
if i think in colors
cry in shapes
i dont feel like someone who has to explain a thing
i am both lanky and fat
and i am decorated in torquoise
i am not sure if i am an artist or a researcher or politician
i dont bury toes for too long
i always find a shell

big ***** belly beast dont you ever wonder why the leather and the lace dont really meet where they said they would? chomp devour eat taste lie down and tell me which way you thought the valve was facing. dig and spill and weave and spit. i do not mind as long as you are someone who can tell me things like the dragon did. arent you that dude i met on fifth street? the one who was carrying a canister and a banner and wearing a purple glove? oh, nah? anyways where did the pig toes go and if they are in your bowels don't you feel weird about that, just a little bit, a weird that lightly tickles, doesn't scream? i once tried to hang a banana from a window sill and it wasn't at all what i thought it would be. are you even listening? can you hear me? when we built this underground tunnel i dont think we even considered that we might forget our shoes. why the **** are pathways full of pebbles and where did i leave my calluses? last time i saw them they were under the living room sofa. i heard that forgetfulness is a sign of adult ADD but i cant just go around diagnosing myself and my Medicaid card doesn't work here so i crawl around. never seizure. search. i felt like a peacock today, i had acne coloring my face and i had eyes all over my tail. i was just trying to eat some green beans. isn't it frustrating to have legs? it can be. it can be. it cant be their fault. or their fault. or mine. or his. no where to put it. it is everywhere.

they times i have closed my eyes for,
they have arrived
i eat sweets, don't eat eggs
except when they make up an almost vegan pie
my evenings are full of paint
my mornings are full of clattering
i cry after yoga class
make burgers that barely bind
my art has turned pink, purple, pastel
my clothes have turned black
my memories dance forward in solo performances
i forget how to put them back
i bought a new plant named edward
i finally have a desk
i lay down on the stripes
with the weight of the ones i have left
i spend hours cleaning the bathtub
i never pick up any wine
i pray with the rise and the falling
ive got feet on eight different paths
the rain isnt rain
its just thunder
we attempted to graft some bamboo
it scared me today when you knew my mood
before it had even bloomed.

"The seed will only germinate if kept in darkness" -a packet of chive seeds

covered.
hands slapping against hardwood.
feet shaky on bottom step.
the feelers are out.

when we sped away from the whispering mountains
toward a town blanketed in ferns and bamboo
we thought we had escaped the woods, dark, dull.
we thought we had illumination.

the walls are a blue grey here.
I shoot orange oil into the air.
I pray in google searches.
I sleep too long.

It feels like each day we are jumping
slamming heads into ceiling.

and sometimes it feels like we are fighting for water. and sometimes it feels like we are one seed. and most times it feels like we will break the surface. like we will emerge. and sometimes it is just so **** dark.

lined, filed
mixing patterns
sealing cavities
with sewer covers
frugal
miles and mountains
of rows
blood (hardened)
sloshed over the leaves
garage sale;
reading a deceased woman's journal
collecting postcards
climbing in
swelling
forgetful
layered
straying eyes making stories
shale in shards
your mothers closet
walking the perimeter
occasional gusts
searching with such
a fury that
we discover something

old.

flat. nothing near me
slips into that.
you are mild.
you are bubbling.
you are always thinking about tumors.
we are growing.
i'd say it was abnormal.
i'd say that maybe it was too rapid.
maybe it is taking up too much space.
maybe I need a long rest.

my mom thinks her cancer
was caused by stress.
my mom thinks my dad
caused her cancer.

could i save myself
if we were to cut this off?

I can't imagine how this looks
Me, face of clay
Silent windchime mouth
Aquariam glass eyeballs
Snowglobe life
Swimming in glitter
Tsunami at your hands
Plastic toes stuck
Until I lunge
Eyes flare heat
Stove top face
Coiled brain
Orange is the color I saw in you
Finger painted pianos
Mole rat grass
You took my monocle
Smashed glass in the garden
Next to tulip bulbs
That will grow in as your teeth
Fingers on mice
Like your genes
Granola girls take paths
I am glued, plastic feet
You walk around me

red berry trees
e.e cumings portrait of blonde woman
walking typing presenting conversing
walking clouds are altocumulus
walking singing aloud
man in orange shoes jogs
woman with grocery bag crosses street
trees always outshine architecture
orange and red in december
hand lovingly touching hat
doodles on papers, all triangles
doodles on hands, all triangles
curved architecture, sheep horns
reading about **** eating goats
environment saving goats
sustainability studying scientists
drinking out of plastic cups
such a thing as malevolent creativity?
wanting to plant annuals
wanting to smell dirt, feel dirt
walking weaving thru whirlpool
strange man smiling outside of bathroom
judging your own judgement
napping in hallways
success
consumerism isn't candy
it used to be sweet, not eating meat
anymore, any more questions?

goodnight

I have never had power
I have had quiet
ears ringing. closed doors. locked latches. computers.televisions. a mind.
I have had loud
ears pulsing. slamming doors. broken latches. heavy breath. a body.
I have never had a voice
I have had waves of screaming. sarcastic laugh. distracted listener. belittlement.
I have never had freedom
I have had you will do this. friends aren't allowed here. keep these things quiet.
I have never had confidence
I have had hidden tortilla chips. body in mirror. seeking another. fear of eye contact.
I have never had calm
I have had lingering rage. harboring fear. persistent inadequacy.
I have never had support.
I have had pick a side. figure it out. go away. get ready. you're fine.
I have never had a self
I have had starving. ***** in showers. lack of opinion. seeking of clues. hiding. drugs. alcohol. friends who accompany my demise.
I have never had a passion for life
I have had unfamiliar bodies. missed classes. suicidal ideation. hopelessness.
I have never had healing.
I am trying to find it now.
I am.

I rest my eyes
Wipe off water
Watch air move light
Swallow

Do you have to be large
To be melting away?
I have nothing much to lose
But things are falling

Why isn't the bug
In his body?
How do I handle his cornered
Predatory remains?

Saltines and sugar
I am now burgeoning
Into a comfortable fluctuation
Though I long held the key

I am leaving home again
Turning around, clasping
Dancing on portions of time
Swallowing, swallowing, swallowing

All of the men I've met
Have wanted to know me
From the bottom up
They start at the toes
Treading lightly
Tipping towards in a dance
That is beginning to feel like ritual
After they pass the achiles
The speed increases
Only swiftly caressing
My cut out calves
It seems they think I might slice them
Then there are the thighs
Here they rest and gain reassurance
They burrow as if they will stay for winter
They start to cautiously creep towards
The cozy meeting place
And then they ******
Suddenly I am full
A capacity I have been yearning
A community event  I am hosting
The buzzing around, the coming
The, I'm coming
Then, the going.
All of the men I've met
Have only ever met me half way
They never nustle into my stomach
Or hustle and then halt inside my heart
They do not begin to beckon
All that is living in my brain
(Meaning all of me that is living)
They do not synchronize with my breathing
They do not braid their hair into mine
They leave me slick
They slide away in efforts i can't match
My muscles strain
They climb and reach a shallow peak
And then refrain
All of the men I've met
Well, they've left me feeling plain.

To love to love to love
Negate fear
Drop fear like it is a carried number
Find home in your own respect
Give
The love you experience is yours
The love you experience is pouring
Out of your own reserves
The love they feel is theirs
This is okay.
This is perfect.
To love
Do not ask another to carry you
Do not hand over self and ask
For safe keeping
If (when) they fumble
You will diffuse blame,
Rise in anger, hatred
When the body of your emotional plane
Was only made to fit in your hands
They will always drop it.
This is okay.
This is perfect.
When you hold you
Look, heal, douse in respect
You will shrink and explode at once
You will become small again
Young, hardly wounded, calluses sanded
You will become full, overflowing
This will be okay.
This will be perfect.
To love to love to love
Is to witness another
Carry themselves with grace
And commend them for their inherent power
Their inherent compassion
Their inherent being
And think,
Yes,
This is someone I prefer unfolded.

I know I am not what you think
a woman should be
I see you flinch at the sight of these
stray hairs between my eyebrows
I know you want binaries
You want boundaries
You can't wrap your head around fluidity
I know I am not what you think
a woman should be
I know my flannel shirts untucked from miniskirts
Confuse your standardized notions
You repeatedly ask me if I'm a lesbian
As if the only way this type of femininity
Could be rational was if my sexuality
Deviated from another norm you abide by
And by the way, I'm bi.

How long will you stare at these
Uncovered pimples and army green nail polish
How long will I feel your gaze
Appraising and questioning
Every inch of my flesh?

You didn't do this when I was thin
That time when my bones were present
And my eyebrows were threaded
And my skin was covered and my
Clothes were coverings two sizes too big
Now I have multiple chins and sometimes
I let grease run down them
When I let myself eat onion rings

I don't know how to not let you
Look at me in the way that you do.

The stillness
The parking lot
The chest in bundles

am i a bad person
Am i
AM i
AM I

left in heaps
peering out windows
approached by the one that always hides

how to shake this
how to fill into your love
how to forget my chapters

I want to be wood
I want to be shade
I want to be shelter

Instead I tell you everything you do is wrong.

It doesn't feel wrong
When the chest is bundled
the alarms are ringing
when I am no longer frontal lobe

It doesn't feel wrong
When I am trying to survive
When my feet point
slightly towards the exit on their own

But i do wish I could slip from under this
I do
Wish I could be
yours.

lover
I want to know if we are alright
I want to know if I have just stolen
a corn field and am hiding in a closet
I want to know if I am just too young
oh lover
I want to see the wounds that I am shaping
or shaking away
I need to know that we are not something
shadowed, an eclipse
I cannot take a surprise battery
I want to know that my words are petals
or taro or blankets or water
I need to know if I am nuclear
If I am clean but not clean enough
I need to know if I am pure and full
and hollow and whole and everything good
I need to know that I am nothing but suspension
I want to keep you risen.
Lover
I need to know that my loving is really loving.

the insecurity that intersects
your fingers and my figure
is enough to spin a whirlpool
seven miles wide

i rage at your taste for me
but i am cyclical, stuck
i am a fly on your calf
you do not even notice my thrashing

to feel you are ugly in the arms of a lover
to feel you are nothing in the clenches of another
frankly,
i think is quite common.

I said
Don't!
Stop!

He said
He heard
Don't stop

"you smell like family"
I say, do you have a tissue?
My nose is clogged.

all this means is
I am no where near my Neruda
all this means is

I do not have love rising through my eyes
Or swaying lightly in my lungs
Or waiting to jump from my fingers

My love is snake holed
Buried and mixed with stomach acid
My love hurts when it comes up throat

sometimes
when I drive
down the road
and see the trees
in the small patches of grass
between cement
I see they are weeping
they are waving their arms about
calling for help.

By this, all I mean is
am I paying enough attention?
or more like,
is the attention I am paying enough?
or maybe it's,
are the conclusions drawn from perception correct
and by correct
I mean
are they mine
are they systemic
are they volatile
are they tired
the poet has the strange position
of interviewing their consciousness
sometimes telling it
you are wrong, so far from anything right
and that is after the poem has been written
what goes on before, or during
if I had to say
it'd probably be close to ******
you feel it building
you pay close attention when it starts tingling
warning you of its course
then it is driving
rushing, clarifying, spreading, spilling out
it is you. consuming. enveloping. all.
editing comes next
the fighting with the you that has risen and went
looking for insight in the hardened cotton of *******.

I write to you
Because my brain is not withering

It is growing,
Grooving pits out of neurons
And overtaking blooming

When you take your physical
Out of the sun, you think, I am safe now
Hours later you are bubbling, red, thirsty

I took off
Tied a string from my pinky to your mailbox
It is something people do

I am sitting, looking at an orchid
Seeing the walls of your home, your mouths
My innards that I thought were excavated

I am having difficulty finding comfort
I am having difficulty seeing beauty
I am having difficulty

I think you put it here
In the house, or me, or the string
I drag it

I want you to take it back
Box it up
Swallow it

Hand me back sorry
Hand me back history-less handbook
Give me a hand altering this

Write me back, please
Tell me I was mistaken

there is something small going on here. something large. a revolution. a one link, one point, one dot burst. there is us. a learning of love. this is not minuscule. this does not barrel forth on a diet of mindlessness. there is engagement. there are histories colliding. there is spackle. there is grout. there are narratives. there is a riot. there is rage. 4 hands, feet, kneecaps, hips, cheeks, lips, eyes, ears. there is wanting to slam 4 fists on table. there is eye contact that is melting long frozen. there are times when there is only 1. 1 giant. 1 strength heavy, spilling heartiness, settled creature. there is 1 detailed single fluid specimen. this is the power.