There are certain hours / when we deteriorate / our mouths go hot and / the acid lining our organs finally start to burn / the bone / I wish the hours that wearied me the most / were in the middle of the night / all the black ickyness which sticks to me / and drags on the ground behind / wouldn’t clash with the geometric sun beams / but it’s the late noon sun / dull and filtered / and my meds wearing off //

Instead of being made of matter / I wish I could evaporate myself out / into a water vapor room / with all the warmth trapped in / I like the way that it almost looks like a hazy beauty queen evening / with dreams of perfectly pinked skin //

But instead I center myself around that spot where my ribs push into my stomach / I’m a creature of humanity / deteriorating into the soil //

I want to write a poem where I’m a bluejay / or maybe I just want to be a bluejay / I’ll sing while i fly for no reason at all / all matter and air / maybe i feel some need to escape / but mostly I think blue is a pretty color / and I want to make something pretty //