just for future reference
it is not cute to ask me to prom

when you’re three hundred-sixty five days
in the hole
when i’m turning twenty
this year

I
still
don’t
want
to
Go.

I thought wrong
about the taste of summer —

I woke this morning
to a sticky body
in a solid frame
moving through a tacky house
feeling
glued to the past
a nostalgic air
I breathed and
panicked and
wanted to call my mom
to tell her that summer was in the house

I shrunk down
I calmed down

I found pretty pills, favorite
I sat and ate it —

I woke again to
the taste of my skin
being shown

I sat
in my
salted sweat

pants
slipped

my
mind
dripped —

I am
still
trying

sitting, squealing,
sautering sky

I, too, have spoken, woven
to shake the
light

but after last night —

I have loosened, lighter
I feel figs and
fog

I have to speak to the walls
they don’t know yet

no one
not one

you’re the star shaped
bolts and
screws I
try on

I am still in the bathroom
with the cat food
trying you on

can the difference between
one
and another
actually just literally be
how horny
it makes you
to sit or to lie
perfectly still
against a setting sun on a life
that you’d known
for twice
as long
as anyone else’s
by this time
it’s got
multiple moons
and
crazed loons
and
choosing the light
over the night
and
what it means
to start
under
or over
that penniless
happy
little
mess