I heard about her murder this morning, a week after everyone else.
Such a fucking unbelievably senseless thing. Such a bright light.
All our desperate little lives.
Since I moved to Philadelphia, Iâve been pretending to be dead at night,
so I can go to sleep. Crossed hands over my lower stomach, casket-style. Eyelids heavy.
Everything is over. Nothing matters. Everything is over. Nothing matters.
Everything is over. Nothing matters.
Always yearning for the 22nd nowadays. Whenever Iâm feeling stagnant,
I find myself checking the calendar.
How much longer until another month of sobriety?
Every 22nd hurts and helps my heart.
Iâve been thinking about blood a lot lately. The stretch of Indianaâs soft neck making my jaw ache. The rumor that Angelina wore a vial of his blood around her neck, the disappointment of finding out it was only a pinprick, asmear. Wanting to eat a steak during restaurant week, but not knowing what to pair it with, as a sober person.
âMilk or blood,â I say to Indiana. âPigâs blood?â he says.
âToo tannic. I was thinking human blood.â
27 months sober today. Things falling apart. Tightly wound.
The wind blew and a dried leaf
crawled along the ground like a rat
âI donât share often but I feel compelled to today. I lost my fiance to this disease this morning.
A melatonin poem: black rice, edible moss, heads of flowers grown from seed, sage, thyme, mint, curly parsley, that other kind of lavender, dill blossoms, upside-down mushrooms, soft cheese balls rolled in forest floor, agar agar, soft tongued rosy, peach nectar & watermelon juice, tomato juice rivers, something blue and cold
One hour awake, softly tracing the contours of Indianaâs face with the back of my hand, whispering
The cashier looks at my backpack and up at me again and calls me âbabyâ lightly, endearingly.
She might be a grandmother, thinking she knows Iâm just a kid.
I ask Indiana about this when he gets home. He says my younger pictures just look like a different person. I grew up a decade into a different teenager.
Streets filled with people slowly staggering around, red-faced, hair straggly and wet. Lot of drunks,
I think, before realizing itâs the heat.
Thought i saw legs but it was just light
shaped against the brick wall
Would you rather be happy or would you rather be right?
strawberries in lavender vinegar
I heard about her murder only this morning, a week after everyone else. Such a fucking unbelievably senseless thing.
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All our desperate little lives.