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Maundy Thursday is a field of purple milkvetch blooming beside the freeway

I am a lost boy the poison orchid in my mouth a summons a Cassandra bugle what I’m trying to say is I’ll never fit in what I’m trying to say is history betrays me what I’m trying to say is I’m swallowed by gaping dullness what I’m trying to say is I’m stuck in this pink dress what I’m trying to say is the red stain on my chest is a constant state of failing what I’m trying to say is geese in the yard fall and play dead what I’m trying to say is raccoons dig in trash barrels and stars burn in their hands what I’m trying to say is I’m diving into the lake I’m diving into the pool I’m diving into the bathtub head first as custard drools out on the tip of Mary Berry’s tongue

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My lithium darling

I run in my sleep inhale surgical smoke camphor and winter’s stub the prophets say an answer is coming there’s always a prophet in this business one in a suit one in an open dress one in pajamas one with small children who run through the house leave the doors flung so the chimney sparks one in a ditch and all the haha in the hilarious world won’t fix it there’s a gun in my head darling there’s a gun and no end to this story bang bang

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Picked up with ease by private listeners

As a girl I was effortless in stress now dead of thought a single hoary white hair grows in my left brow oh god I was particle and sun in the forest I was a stolen red purse I left chocolates to melt on your linen I didn’t care now my head is full of rabbits nibbling and fighting do you know I lived in 17th century Vienna died of plague buried in a pauper’s grave my body returns to me at night encased in a block of resin turpentine’s amber cousin rosin shoe nutmeg in my pocket all seeking their source the same bark the parallel tree I stink of elementary vegetables left to rot where vinegar and garbage fuck in alleys stuffed with ghosts I eat Seroquel to sever my visions I give it up ache for filth ache for desire

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Against gravity

I cannot consider my heart’s wet muscle its pumping pumping pumping the weight of it the fat of it the pulse of it when I am at rest I cannot consider my heart its music its valentine its stupid fault line my father’s heart stopped its lithe work when he was sixty I cannot consider my heart’s busy valves and harnesses aorta and arteries I imagine a horse’s heart in my body its glenoid shape its fourteen pounds its chambers filled with sugar and green grass and ecstasy its horse chambers playing Bach in a barn in sunlight my giant horse heart luxurious in hay beating time keeping time perfect and alive but for an apple a carrot a caress a hot steamed snort my heavy horse body moving always forward moving always toward morning 

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The needles were kind

I didn’t venture out I waved at my derelict garden through the window I said fuck you garden I baked wedding cookies for children attended by the fragrant bodies of cats the giant gold dog and the baby with its steel arm and hook sewn to a cloth bunny that swung from the door frame I refuse my ache to travel Paris was a bite of bluegray everyone wealthy and young food too expensive an overabundance of wine drunk at breakfast in a cafe gathering looks as fat men with cigars became puffs of smoke thin men sitting together shoes touching knees touching the dog that was a white wolf I never left I boarded a train that was already moving my greedy face my stone face neon over nothing just another Seattle and Wanda in a chair with a drink her brother stole my purse my plaster jewels I am equal to the right side of a triangle the last flare of a match lighting a cigarette I am equal to a mountain in Croatia I am equal to a panther licking its paw I won’t release my dream the cloth bunny swings and swings today I’ll ride my ribbons