No. 189 “He speaks in your voice, American, and there’s a shine in his eye that’s halfway hopeful.” — Don DeLillo, Underworld (1997) I. I give James Murphy the benefit of doubt when I blow out candles before the house burns down—I'm still asleep, the sofa —no harm done, stunned, solid stone at the top of the stairs; now I dream the smoke (?) & gaily tumble toward eternity. II. After I die there's a long quiet & a loud snap like a storm door wind-slammed shut— a body like the Lord's comes in and turns on all the lights in the burnt-down shell home, charcoal skeleton illuminated amidst "let there be light" jokes, cigarette stench & birdless, humming power tools. The well of my mouth draws tears from my stomach when I try to remember word shapes like "mother"— a time I learned how to be forgotten. God's doppelgänger brandishes a pen and I consign myself to oblivion per the terms and conditions, happy to discover over and over how hard the bottom stair hits. #liminalproject #mentalhealth #endthestigma #poetry #anxiety #doorviewer (at Park Central, Phoenix, Arizona)