HEY

I. I have a dream where I'm reaching out for you I have a dream where I tuck myself between your jawline,        your seamless shoulder. It's a little bit like drowning like dying and wanting to be alive in the same frame of motion. I am breathing the salt in. I am breathing the air out. I am breathing the salt in. II. I always knew we were made from nooks and crannies,        your breath, where our skin touches, like the bellows of the Earth I always knew that a cheek to a shoulder blade- you are setting me on fire I am letting you raze me. raze me. III. I have nothing more to do than be here & isn't that nice? Bring me into your body, your pulse around my fingers, your muscles tangled with my nervous limbs. I will show you fear in a handful of dust. Are you afraid? (You should be)

I will do as devils do I will claim you with my whole mouth running lions teeth over your rabbit skin like I am starving;        tempted and craving you whole. We are our own fill of red meats dark wines, sweet berries I will do as devils do I will lead you sweetly, like a lamb into damnation and make it so much like rapture you could never hope to tell the difference I will do as devils do falling with you into beds, pits, and all manner of unhelpful places. You are a saint to me, you are a sinner for me: you beautiful god, blood priestess, pharaoh queen

I want and cannot find myself I walk about the perennial yard and wonder how we got here, how we come back one year after another and crawl about the hastas, our lilac-hydrangea bushes running wild with bumblebees and wolf sound there are moments that take us to other places you take me to so many places it is hard to remember where we started out or ever wanted to end up. And It feels lonely, It wants to die one day, to leave a place for someone new, for something else to grow again (Some things repeat themselves in the back of my mind like a ritual. This is one of them: “There is no life without death. It is time to be alive again.”) and It keeps on wanting. It cannot find itself. Lilac-hydrangea bushes in the summer, Irises in the spring, mandevilla grows on my lips like a vine and attracts the hummingbirds. It still sounds so romantic: the strangers in part shadow, art hanging down the walls like lobelia from the portico, how I still pronounce the double L’s like Y’s slowly, mouth rumbling smooth, sky bound (limite del cielo, limite del cielo) I search and cannot find myself. There is no truth in anything but the soul and I am beginning to think I may not have one. I feel around in the anatomy, a schema of limbs and words and tendon locked joints, who made me? such a decorative thing

I have forgotten what it feels like to be touched. The world, and all the people in it, are ice cold glasses of water, voracious, some impenetrable silence. I have forgotten what it feels like to be made from scratch. An egg here and four cups of flour, stir, add extract; make a person with a small voice and narrow feet, make someone whose bones grate together in the winter and is never warm. I have forgotten what it feels like to be sick. There were times my fevers reached 102 degrees, when I was so hot that my body shook like windows in a thunderstorm- everything clattering together and I became (made of nothing) (almost dead) almost alive. I become almost alive.What does it mean to be whole?

pelions >> apollq

sparagmos; a ritual (the tearing apart of a person) this heart. our heaving lungs. every part of my body rubbing up against the bricks (“i know. you’re getting to it.”) everything is blurry but the feelings are real, a collage of hands and feet and tangled limbs, gaping mouths with rasping lips and nameless voices. through the haze comes a body: my body (the tearing apart of a person) (in the name of reclaiming) god just leave another one