asteroid to asteroid. the tidal foam of
middle-mind disasters is ticklish. glue
neverletgos peel and blacken. purple
when lostest, you can trace
sheep, engrossed in petting them.
my muse-chaos died of
grief and i, too stubborn,
neglected to bury her. she was the shape
of an erratic coil of rave-light straws.
she thawed, muddy coloured. hours
passed. i stared. i was self aware from
loneliness and knew just when i was blinking.
my feet fell asleep on the pavement.
the trash erased pigment
and other orderly boring
matters from my bottomhalf
and my life didn’t change forever.
i want you to know,
when i’m fine,
i don’t even need hope. i don’t
even care if you believe in me
or not. this is my own bullshit
problem, forever. i just nod
slowly, once: an acknowledgment.
pass for a few days and
come back for a few days.
every five hours or so i think this.
i want you to know additionally
that i’m brave and i’m not going
to die just because i said so.
when i’m elderly, i’ll be thin,
i’ll be pale, i’ll be crazy. i’ll
belong to nobody, just the surrounding
fields i’ll bribe myself to. it’s
inevitable. these things
just happen to tons of old ladies
here, maybe for the sake
i want to end with something bitter and rude
but i’m not gonna mean any of it
there’s nothing you don’t already know as
i’m reading this to you from my
puffy two alien eyes to yours which were
thoughtful and clear.