Thursday, September 3, 2020

alphabet soup

the night I sat on the balcony 

watching the moon cross the sky


Jamie’s ghost touched everything in the apartment

turned my pairs of shoes at perpendicular angles


propped up the sheep brain dissection kit

scooted out my desk chair


it was so subtle

I could have done it myself


what's the difference between 

hallucination and metaphor


seeing the story over the story

the world behind the world


I don't want to say too much

but something I can tell you now;


it's a lie 

that nothing rhymes with orange


the buddha quality

of a stuffed animal


how two dots and a line 

make a gracious face


I was sure he was in my bathroom

staring at that tum on the tile floor


and I realized how trauma 

is like schrodinger's cat


the keloided narratives that stay fucked up

for as long as the door is closed


I keep seeing a soft sky full of tiny letters 

like alphabet soup


and the afterimage of a cool blue fairy

pepper's ghost


and there's something extra 

we're elaborating on now


about washer women

gossips and yentas


about twins, togetherness

about the tree and the stone