When the sun sets in the distance,
we admire the clouds scattered
across our little corner of the world.
For a few moments, the clouds appear
to be made of cotton candy with pink
swirls nearly covering the diminishing
blue leftover from the day. It was a
beautiful sight and the sun set further
as we settled into bed for a long night’s
rest, dreaming of tomorrow’s light.
Starla guides a gold-eyed glare
through my eyes my brain my gut,
her haunches crouch in defiant
protestation. She releases
a hot stream of urine
Soaking deep into
the duvet the sheets the mattress &
Does. Not. Stop. until she’s
satisfied
She knows some lessons mustn’t be rushed.
She speaks her lectures in full sentences.
20 mEq taken twice daily, you
are accustomed to the soft diffuse red
fluorescence of the CVS sign, lined up idle
in the drive-through, a little hot shame leaking
into dusk air. The fireflies avoid the rotting
stench of you, dumb addict, that bleak
acidic tang speckled on legging pant legs
and seeping from beneath broken nails.
Wearing a new blue floral jumper, freezing,
dolled up reasonless for the the pharmacist, you
cannot masquerade as one of those flowers,
sweet honeyed perfume poured stinging
over soured wrists. You are only a jumper
in your dreams. Only when on the sparkling edge
of North Carolina mountains and in art museums
with walls of windows that touch the floor
do you crave a heavenly flight like that.
Glass so clean, cleaner than you’ll ever be,
clean enough you could walk like a ghost
through the side of the building straight into
the city, splatter the concrete in one swift go.
But that’s not your speed, you prefer the slow
dance of dying, trying not to mostly, meddling
with uncertain terms, elapsed days dissolving
into bad calculations guessing multiple variables.
You pour the ½ tsp Morton Salt Substitute
into a Immune Support Pineapple Propel, chase
a 16 oz coconut water, the only cocktail left
that won’t scare you. You could never get drunk,
lose your clawed grip on reality, out of control
of your body, and the alcohol would kill you anyways.
You have better methods of escaping the day,
still within your consciousness, a high you can snap
out of with the slight of a hand. You pay the price
of only having to take a handful of helpful pills,
all vitamins, all a mirage of health for a moment.
Now up to 5499 mg daily in supplementation alone,
ironically surviving what others couldn’t.
Needing it to live.
My blue faux leather kline is warm under my butt.
I’m down 650 CC’s of emigrated blood.
The remainder is swirling up a plastic tube attached to my arm.
Plasma donation has a sterile facade.
Rude nurses intake for sweet phlebotomists
Beige curtains in front of soft cumulus clouds.
Cheap gift cards compensate for saved lives.
A progress bar ticks along.
Now the blood plasma is done separating.
The platelets and cells start to return.
Yellow nectar replaced by cold IV fluid.
Waiting at the bus stop,
The clouds seem a little flatter
The bench feels a little colder
A 5 tonne bus approaches,
an AI generated picture of a lady plastered on its side
I close my eyes, imagining jumping in front of it
Splatter of pink saline on the asphalt
Fuel line hooked up to my arm
I decide against it,
and when my eyes are open again
the bus is kneeling right at my feet.
My dad was music,
every day a real-life musical.
He broke into song
when the urge hit,
when something said
reminded him of a song,
along with the radio,
twisting lyrics to fit
his household chores.
When he died,
the music died.
Now, in my mother’s house
there is only silence.
these stars are not mine i think as i wake from this cold sleep that at once overtook my thoughts when you left one night what is it now some year or years later my memory being not what it once was and it was never that good anyway like the time i forgot not just your birthday but to pick you up after school when we were little and fresh so don’t blame me bounced checks we never wanted to buy anything anyway we just went to the store to buy time until the reality stopped and the dreaming started so what if i saw a shooting star tonight when i woke they’re not mine anyway these stars
“My heart skipped a beat”
Denotes sweet, sureal attraction
My anxiety tends to disagree
As it’s recently experienced
true premature atrial contraction
My new infatuation with WebMD
does NOT make me giddy
…My heart races because of thee, tempest…
O internet, it must be cardiac arrest!
I just had a question arise
it sparked its way
toward a semblance
of hope
check it
what if
Nikki Giovanni
makes it to
Mars
before they
do?
before
they
do?
