it feels like being concious of swallowing one's spit.

How are we going to do this?
Hold hands,
clap our hands
[thunderclap, worlds shut-
eyes open]

Waking up in a sun filled room
black cat's maw all a-mew and I felt,
who are you,
so naked, so old?
My legs and your legs in front of a TV set just days ago
made the whole of the Hamlet
swallow into sex and
boring flickers of a seeping love.

Together & Alone:

I take pills to get the mind shut down,
wondering how it ever wound up in the first place.
The process of sleep: a Jack in a box. The box,
what do I keep in that box?
My nuvaring, the head of state, a few thoughts and one
giant muscle that is always pulsing to close.

That is why I am a beam of winded sun,
or
[How are we going to do this]
the weather, unpredicted and irrational.
I am loving and kissing and I am so angry and I'm angry that I'm angry.

The person who taught me how to battle: forced me to armor-up too early,
is now my lesson in calm strength. I suppose I'll never know why inertia
hits the wrong the synapses. My footnote, my keynote.

I leave myself because I hit myself and I haven't found the strength to divorce the qualities that have control over my quality of life. If all goes alright, I'll be on a boat, in the ocean and peacefully exposed to what will consume me as an implosion. I can only go inward until I come around.

My new language, Paul Auster, red notebook?

mom's home.

ii.
we went into the girls locker room and i told them to turn the shower on
but they didn't listen
and i reached in
and cranked it
and i wound up soaking wet.

we were hysterically laughing, even as i dried them off and let myself
out into the parking lot air.
continuing to hiccup as we were driving home
singing a song only made up of the word: "yes."
sometimes I'd throw in a "no" and they'd giggle.

iii.
easy mac,
that's whats going to happen.
can i stir in the cheese?

THIS SHIT IS MADE OF YELLOW PLASTICS
I scrub the macaroni scum from the bowl.

iv.
look how high i can jump
bigger than you,
as high as you are tall.

(but we're holding hands and i'm helping you,
the door slams. mom's home)

v.
put glitter all over your eye?
i am leaving
and i am leaving with the memory of
your eye glittering,
not pink and red sticky jar stuff
but when you fall asleep and your eyelids flicker
and you're so glossed my heart drops
to my bare feet.

vi.
she's a terrycloth model,
pacing the steps with her glowskin
and unbrushed bedtime teeth.

vii.
don't tell mom
the babysitter is.
alive and well
and not an adult secret.

---
There is no "i." because it was absolutely irrelevant. these all go together and a little ditty about french doors didn't make the cut. I have not edited this, nor do I care to at the given time. This summer is going to be about more than survival. Las Truchas, more. More.