—IT’S OKAY IF YOU DON’T HAVE IT ALL FIGURED OUT

 

 

 Junk

 

All the answers are rotting under the stairwell. Syringes and pluck. Stray teeth and toenails. We were going to be astronauts or performance artists, lovers who mean it. But we became dust instead, blowing on each other just to know we were there.

 

 

 

Pieces

 

My lover is guileless. She has a mirror face, which means she has mine. She lets it collect dust and dribble, fissures. She shows me all of the different people I can become if I just align the pieces that won’t stop lying.

 

—RABBIT, RABBIT

 

  

Through

 

I missed my connection. You were already in Tangiers, playing Marco Polo in a tub or bobbing for apples beneath the sheets. With your schadenfreude kiss. With a mouth that can fit around anything. Teeth that saw clean through.

  

 

Atlas

 

She calls me Atlas. Drapes doilies over my palms. Puts the whole world in my hands. Shits on top without bothering to wipe. Hops off and hops away. As if that’s all strength will buy you.