[I WANT TO ASK SOMEONE, SOMEONE I DON'T KNOW]
I want to ask someone, someone I don’t know
I don’t know where this person would be, or who
I want to ask them when we stopped knowing
was there a minute a specific minute when blood got freaky
when I felt good and did not need to proclaim it
is this a question for God for the banks for (who knows) (I don’t)
Mom says Dad couldn’t be in the delivery room with her
Some men just can’t honey, Mom says she just wants me to be safe
And like, on the other hand people always feel like this, felt
Yesterday giving blood I cried over all the terrible boxes I didn’t have to check
Have you been in contact with animals in foreign countries do you have skin grafts
who cut into your body who slicked it
The slick the slice sluuuush shhh when my friends were when I was eight Mom said
I want the first dead body to be someone you don’t know, and she took me in the morgue
Take your daughter to work day he was meat, long and flat and God was away
God wasn’t there, I can know this and also I can wonder if I even believe at all
I believe in lighting candles when I’m afraid: is this fear, and not “is this normal”
but does everyone feel it because if so: not only why haven’t we fixed it but why why
do we just go on, hats over our ears against the cold (if we have hats) (if ears)
The last time I couldn’t breathe I couldn’t breathe, this is a fact and if we rest on it
The story suffers / I took off my hat and my sweatshirt and I took an orange
I walked outside I felt the metal in my ears go cold my skin turned red and blue
My throat like meat like a weak tube connecting thought to sex
I walked outside and I ate the orange naked as a centaur (I guess centaurs
are always naked, but they have half-body-fur anyway you know what I mean)
I ate the orange I ate the orange I looked at my hand and thought: here we go again
[TODAY I READ]
today I read
for hundreds
of years axes
didn’t have handles
we just held the blade
and hacked at shit
it was fine
the line that cuts
you pour over it
I cup it and drink
then you drink again
what is a boundary
you pour over it
my friend works with sex
she takes in breath death and fluid
miners take in ash: it’s color
it isn’t different
I wish I could write a law about that, alas
here we are in a song about joy
an ancient, fixed, and regular tongue
the tongue is a muscle it is rooted
all of death is right here in the throat