for days now i’ve woken up feeling like grounded glass. i cannot lift my eyes forward because i carry the residue of yesterday. peanut butter out of the jar, into my belly and into the air. i feel like i am wading in it.

frustration. what does it feel like in this body? like heat rising under a lidded pot, like thrashing through a million hangers– why do i have so many  fucking clothes! that I don’t even like! All of them are roadblocks i have built and i am so angry with myself. a tower of terror, this sense of failure. it’s a stifled cry, out through the nose… i’m suffocating because i know better than to wallow.

Jesus, will your victory be mine today. Hurry, do not delay.


Avoir le bras long

in the comfort of cotton too hot,
in the sanctuary of these four walls,
pristine like the underside of a clamshell,
the trees framed by the window are
nothing more than an artist’s rendering.

but there is more to be done here:
the cracked cranium,
the leaky sink,
the chipped bed-frame,
the dust-
oh the dust is everywhere,
born of things decaying.
like clockwork,
i make the rounds,
spiralling inwards

i live by the sliver of sun,
the flickering bulb
as i chase my shadow friends
(faux amies).
i am the eye of a storm,
snapping branches-
my arms!

je ne peux
même pas m’embrasser.