Flying HighTo the boy knee-deep in starswhich refused to stay upon his sky –smoke-filled hallucinations,because reality was never so kind –stop trying to inhale me.I will not jump that high:I cannot breathe.(In, out. In, out, in-in, in, in,fucking in—When did I ever thinkit was a goodideato scream out all my air?Heaving,like I contractedso small that theplanet cannotsee me well enoughtohold me down,so in, in, in,and anchormeinto thecouch, eyes blown wild,and myfingernails crack upon the edge;I don’t want to lift away,fly up into the black,but my veins are constricting hoses, andmy bloodis screaming in my ears, and Ican’t breathe. Can’tbreathe can’tbreathecan't b-breathe-)Put me back in the water, love.Stop trying to inhale me.
snow globes and vinyls"It feels like madness," I tried. "Like falling down the stairs, only you're falling up them, further into your own head."This madness, it is like a way of seeing, a type of vision - a pair of sunglasses that makes everything buzz, and it feels like you're gasping and yelling to go down at the same time something is stretching you up. Your flesh hums and raises itself like the static before a lightning strike - and you could hit eject, but you don't know where you'd go: oblivion is nonexistence. And sometimes I wonder - sometimes silent, sometimes aloud: it really depends who's around - is this what it's like to die?"Because the world is bottled up in my head, see? And someone keeps shaking it like a snow globe (and I'm afraid one day it will explode and my brain will float around like the synthetic confetti and all I'll ever think, a scratched vinyl chorus: is this what it's like to die?)"The walls swallow my words and stiffen like the Tuesday psychiatrists.
Honor Thy MotherThey're eating my worldwith silver table spoons,with pinkies rigidlike pirate ship masts,skulls grinning and staringand grinning and staring;my flesh suddenlyfeels like a lawyer (or liar)buying me time...before the skeleton fingerswith skeleton spoonsscoop me up and suck outbone from shell-husk -like crab, like snails(if they had any backbone),like forests, colonizedand root-fucked.
Local (alt: how long is too long?)I’m a yo-yowound around a December –remember –rinse and repeat: rememberrising suns in the back, pocketsof sunshine turned blackin the same placebetween the doorframewhere we heard laughterbefore the scream.Disney books on the shelves,pressing against me like liars,because a fairy godparent doesn’tjust forget he’s a father –doesn’t just riselike a hot-air erection,shattering wordslike “happiness”and “protection,”and a girlisn’t supposedto just sit there and smile,catch his handsfor one momentand forget she can fight them.After:fingerpaint in a heartthat never felt readyto start, and put your messin a frame; say Picasso’s workisn’t the same –and how much stringdo you need to keepa young girl pulled together?Gag on the doctors,depressors, the knightsdismounting horses just toclimb down your throat(like Rapunzel,like glorified boats)in the wreckage of a
The KilnTwirl like your motherinto the arms of depressives,but don’t twirl so slowthat you gain the courageto admit it;and write. Write, poet,write – all the clichés, the heartbreaks,the semicolons, because no onewill fill the catatonic silence.It’s a balancing act –it’s taking the bulletwith grace, because becomingthe monsters beneath your bedis reverse dreaming - is to carrychildhood past the pointof expiration, and, eventually,you must let ghosts hauntyour wishbones into letting go.
Good Morning Americashe would notshow she was afraid,coffee-grounded throat,and a thirst for her own seeds;enigma, pill swallower:she let the labels brandher skin like dairy cowsfor slaughter.the pig screamed;she could not showshe was afraid.snow lapped frostbiteat her ankles likeoffering devotions - ofroses, only her toesdug reclusive igloosshe lost herself in,a profitable day incapitalism, and comas.they tied her knees(hey, they stopped bangingtogether like c-c-cowardsstuttering over pots and pans)and she drank her weightin sky and body giggling backfrom the mirror,but she could not run.horizontal dreamer, dragged –but upside down is a hopefulview - head cracking like eggsagainst a pan sizzling -the skyline, the people, allsizzling - perfect sunsand sunnyside ups,and she wanted to close hereyes, wake up in sleep,ignite herself on the capitolbuilding and burn likean albino-colored christ; butshe could not live ifshe was afraid.