at least when I was underwater , I could feel the ice in my veins,
what, with the salt scraping against the ceiling of my lungs and arteries
my skin was smooth and untouchable,
and I thought for sure I was dying.
o! I thought I was an angel
o! I wanted to be an angel
o! I want to be an angel

but up above the riverbed (on the new jersey side) ,
frosty rocks stick to my back, wind squalls made my once-soft skin dry ,
coercing my tongue towards my open wrists to make them wet again,
but as salty as my spit may be, it doesn't cut like the real thing,
such an awful thing to accept that you are not dying,
such an awful thing to not be dying,

so for a whole year, I staved off the fire I knew was coming
with an adt security alarm (sign in the front yard) and my, my, my...

four angels stand in the foyer in case the fire burst through the door
fantasy kept her watching 'til she sunk down thru the floor
and love was watching carefully when she fell asleep on the job
and flew up thru the ceiling , dreaming of her old close touch,
now, ignorance and vanity were scoring their initials into the walls when the fire started creeping, walking on all fours down the sidewalk
and their blade started melting
and the walls grew warm and heavy
and there was silence in the flame



but even silence cannot contain what lies beyond the tenuous grasp of my atrophied muscles, my red and black fingers , the infinite goodness they move within, I know that healing is change, and change is frightening—new synaptic connections in my brain that I know can change my stubborn identity, to which I fearfully and desperately cling, but my head is filled with ambivalent visions of softness and violence quarantined, the rotting and growing, the rotting and growing, these sacred dynamics within me, because my infinite body mirrors the world around me, mesh skin stretched over scaffolding. I am a God! the Tao is within me! no greater beauty than autonomy! and the other night, I was briefly visited by apparitions of a love determined, seeing sprawling patterns on my bedsheets, I realized my love is (actually) defined by my caring for myself! I will stop starving! I am deeply worried for the world inside of me now that I know what escapism means—to step outside, look objectively, and realize that you are suffering. eye-to-eye and cheek-to-cheek with the girl who lives inside of me.
envision a love spanning all possibilities—return to your body and set to achieve! when i hold my breast I am beauty! I am swag! I am loved! I am loved! I am loved! ,
and if I am honest, enormously honest, I don't know how to love if not for profit and i must concede—oh, what a concession—that I was never your girl ,
I’m just a centipede baby, oh,
saint chaz could never shove a soul so powerless in such a giant body




tear us down, our devotion,
paint our nails with good as gold 941 ,
smothered by my callousness,
did u see me lift the razor to my bare wrist?

conquer me, and carry me, and call me yours.

love us all, love more than me and love this world too small to see,
but I won't ask you to step on me anymore. ("three-person'd God")
love us all, love more than me and love this world too small to see,
and I trust that you won't ask me of anything anymore. ("three-person'd God")
love us all, love more than me,
open palms inside of me,
look me in the eyes as I speak, as I speak. ("three-person'd God")

"blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord"

...but my haunted body is not nourished just because my stomach has stopped grasping , fulfill me,
and fill me with
agate to stop crying, yeah, blue lace so I can start screaming again,
I have
underestimated myself. I am the center on the surface of a sphere.
did you hear?
each thing looks to me for its definition and I tether them to all their rightful roles, for now I know...
that everything inside of me exists outside my window , indifferent but gentle , my body goes on for miles and miles made of pure blue light , food slime , and cigarette butts! from nothing to nothing, from dust to dust !



envisioning golden hands reaching down my throat,
envisioning golden hands tearing out the mechanics inside,
tightened cords, a smaller chin, inoffensiveness,
and a vision so small it could only belong to me,

"...when the earth..."

lift up your chalice , and I promise I’ll never reach out to you again
the body and the blood I lost when the ground met my fist
lift up your chalice, and I promise I'll never ever suggest it again,
lift up your chalices.

lift up your chalice, and I’ll never ever suggest it again,
the body and the blood I lost when the knife met my wrist
lift up your chalice, and I promise I'll never reach out for you again,
lift up your chalices.

"I can still feel His touch"

I used to feel the world's touch via surrogate, a big shiny god,
and the onus fell on romance when I realized His façade,
but romance was more ephemeral than I thought
and so...
I tried to mimic Her touch by carving gray and white scars up and down my arms
I was only hurting a reflection of the world that I love.
I tried to mimic Her touch by giving my pain a face to which I could look up,
these abstractions of a power that could make me shut up.


thank you.