Choking on hourglasses
full of sand and nothing
else. The sweltering heat until your skin becomes leather.
I'd rather swallow shards and rubber and
jars of black bottled ink
than be a part of the big wheel that never turned.
Spinning the water, riptides of salt.
It's spinning for everyone else, and without me
on it to slow it down.
Enough empty days and my heart will rest.
Or enough little candies mixed with
liquid like gasoline and the rest will turn to sleep.
It's easier when you stop counting
each individual second. Each grain of sand
falling down like snowflakes in hypothermic
temperatures. Like vertical lines on a horizon.
Like a pink bathtub. Or a broken toaster.
Or metal the size of a fingernail, hitting teeth and throat.
Teeth falling out from gagging and nicotine. The slow way out.
Too slow for me. I'd rather put on my best suit and tighten the belt, fitted to the last rung.
Perhaps I'll eat some cake. First the guillotine. Then I'll forget to shut the oven off.
Running to the store till my legs give out. Cross the street for some near misses. Then contact.
We're back to shards and rubber.
Just park instead. Take a rest, the engine will be here when your eyes are too tired to open.
Resting easy.

she's choking on her own elixirs,
bury her in the earth
so there's more room up here.
she doesn't like taking up space,
she's a lady after all.
but the soil is rotten and
already full of too many
sad little things,
it can't stand to hold any more.
perhaps she should be burned at the stake,
like the ones before her.
her broomstick is broken,
she can't fly into into the ravine.
I guess she'll just have to jump.

******* molten pit
churning, relentlessly
swirling,
there is no after the fact,
no event can be dreaded and gone over,
because it never
stops.
always twisting and moaning,
wriggling around guts and spines
screaming,
it’s screaming so loud
but no one can hear,
so the blackhole exists to no one
else but me.

Aching! Aching!
Bleeding arches and broken guts,
Heart
Too
Slow and eyes,
Skimming shiny surfaces,
Don’t look! Don’t look!
Comparing inflorescences,
To other flower chests-
Mine’s too big.
Not enough soil.
Too weak for my own pedicles,
the sun hurts,
the sun hurts,
the sun hurts,
everything hurts.
It’s perfect Mommy!
I want that One!
Pluck me from the ground and destroy my nerves and veins
Photosynthesis doesn’t work,
On hollow laminas and lonely stamens.