The void said I own nothing but chrysanthemums
while they tore roses through open air
(the earth angels are coming)

"I hope nothing but holiness touches you
and that the blessed is not of man. Not of his rib"

*"—no helper to mankind"

I saw her swing from 22 stars
she drank moon blood and whispered,
“the body burns in suffering,
but you are a ghost”

in love she boasts four crystals
plain face

a thieving crawl,
loneliness her wicked coat

*my honey drank poison
drank sleep and wickedness
and wed in sickness

I am reminded of California when I hear the birds call to each other in the afternoon
I used to spend hours being as still as possible, so they’d trust me
or forget about me, I’ll never know

I am reminded of Maine when humidity hits
the smell of salt and wind cracking through my skin
I used to spend hours searching for sea glass on their tiny beaches
until my hands grew numb,
until my pockets were full

I am reminded of Italy when the Verbena bloom
a country full of colour, is somehow still one palette
from azure lakes to olive hills, and the small islands full of lemon trees and melon gelato
I used to spend hours in il giardino
thumbing through botanical encyclopedias
digging into latin, trying find meaning for my solitude
antirrhinum, basilico, mentha, zucca, cortarderia, pioppi, *vitis

I tell her things she says she doesn’t want to hear
She just doesn’t want to show her face

I told her she spent too much time making decisions
She spent two hours painting herself red

I told her she was too cruel to her family
She drowned herself in a bathtub,
called it an accident

I told her she wasn’t pretty like the other girls
She stopped being a girl

I told her she was too removed
She didn't cry for months

I told her she didn’t play well with others
She left for Alaska to hibernate

I told her she didn’t need to stop feeling, just stop being scared
So she broke open her head, found every last fear,
And swallowed each one with blind determination

I sometimes see people as ghosts
and when they speak to me
my heart jumps
"you’re not supposed to be alive”

I wish their words were mine.

My voice leaves me
in no manner of conviction
as my pulse warms me
with minor habit-I'm drifting


Lately I’ve been dreaming about Berkeley  
and how the streets there are covered in fruit trees
I dream about New York and the separate life I lived two years ago
Speaking Mandarin in Boston
and English in Bologna
It seems more like a film reel than my life


I used to dream of what my heart looked like on the inside

I thought it was important

And when I was 16 I was convinced it was a mountain range

Now I worry mostly about my lungs quivering
and when my dreams will tell me what it means

If you wanted to take the blue from my eyes you could’ve just asked,
I probably would’ve given it to you
A year takes a lot of energy to light
Are you happy now that the fire’s gone out?

You tried to buy my meals
I think I’d rather starve
It’s not you...
(I hope you know I'm a liar)
it’s just that my exit feels eminent
like burning at the ends
to get smaller and smaller