Bluesky

I forget how to render myselfin attachment to the world.Taking a selfie in the hospital mirrorin case I, you know, die.A final photograph of mebeing painfully morose.I admit I got really corny this timeabout my body being a vessel.You got me, God. I thoughtyou were serious.Like, I was really about tokit out that boat,put a uterus in my uterusjust to have an extra one for show.Landlocked nowin the high grass of deathwalled in by the panic of cicadasI let rain trample me flatas a cluster of ditch lilieswhile I breathe inthe recommended exhaust.Anesthesia sloughs off my skinso a forge of white heatcan shine up my skeleton,making me new.As that fucker Ezra Pound insisted.Show me violenceand suddenly I’m all aesthetic.Here’s that pain you ordered,artisanal, perfect.Leaving blood on the pageas directed. Not red, butcrimson, scarlet. You like it?Great, you can keep itsharp. Observe me closely.Looking gorgeously dead inside.Letting moonlight hit melike a night-blooming rose.