on the bow of a ship i lay on my back
a blue book
a box of craypas
a sketch book and a speaker
it is the edge of the break of day and the hills are speckled with lights
we edge towards red rocks
a man, local as he is ancient
hunts in a puddle
for a fish
with a spear

we enter the canyon the ocean water has carved. an in let of red stripes like fingers on each side.  it is magnificent.  mud drips on my body from the roof of a cavern. it is rich with shit of the ages. so red it's grey and i am covered from head to toe.

i sneak back in and am over looked by older men as i undress. mud still covers my skin, my face, my hair.  I am capturing everything on my phone, which allows me to see behind, farther than my eyes

women with their daughters, mothers teaching their trades.  tending to tailless cats and small small horses
i show my mom the way my mud mask has dried.  it peels off in chunks despite my best efforts to keep it on.  i want to show her my transformation.

his acting persona on the phone is a dramatic difference from the one he uses with me
a dial turning between roles

we were active behind her back
you say you like variety and a quick change of pace

phone calls you out
i am left behind in soot with puzzles
and not my nephews smoking
one hour at the most turns to seven
and a warrant
and a favor

underground away trapped
mind games and favors
ranking systems
and an ass worth money
drain the pool
exit up the elevator
pass a new horror every floor

first to the water where we sat
tiles clean and smooth
next to the sand
and tiles granular and gritty

now you know
everything I could ever want
you think
you read my phone
my receipts
my search history

i leave my tracker by the water where we sat
and continue disconnected

the families who co-mingled with the goats
bore children to be centaurs
so I named their houses accordingly
till highbred denial
poisoned my plate

guilty by association,
guilty by assist
guilty by action

earlier, i was looking for a moldable magnet
i made friends with other witches
one who had grown to care for the bees
beyond purchase and packaging

I was staying in Louis V stately estate
and attending lectures
she was in a space that was secret, but sterile
and not over the bridge to other people enough
her face was over-worn.

again, current, at the end.
I am queen and people over assist me
I am trying to hop a fence being pulled open
I am walking through glass when the gate a jar
They are trying to make me complacent
 and weaken my grip on matter

(I heard our songs coming out a window of the university and i flew
in cognito to a closer look)

Oppositional

finding my personal precipice
he offered to be my guide

at the airport
he takes a spoon of milk and I'm spitting up and dripping snot onto my upper lip

Plastic gelatin napkins
soaked wiped, a cold jelly clean.
And you look up my nose
and tell me the coast is clear.

I am up against myself inverted
There is no glitter on my wings (I hate glitter I insist)
I leave behind crumbs and dust
I bring no jokes, no sunshine
I am tears and gnashing and snotty from the milk
I will crush these grapes in the cracks of your clean couch.
I am an easy target,
Because I am dirty
When you say I'm dirty
But you never give them any context
And for that power play
You precipice is no safer than mine

He met the perfect mate
And almost lost it
Remembering the fragile million.

They could cover my wall in paper
I could leap off the edge of this stairwell
The later would scare everybody because they don't know I can fly

I wish the wedding was in Tokyo
A thread of red pulls out a pore in my neck
I wish I was headed to Tokyo
I sit up straight even though it makes me feel too big. 
I tell her I can dream straight but I can't seem to live straight.  Everything is to far apart.  It's more fun to fly
Her thread is matching red,
Then pulls a second white over her heart
I feel for mine,  but there's only a lump
What's that?
I don't say
The way I die.

a dream my brain turned blue
and revealed itself
in little splotches on my forehead

carved into red walls
dried from fire rock
i was on the wrong side of the world
at the wrong time
add to my list of current event anxiety dreams.
volume too low to hear words over
building sounds again in my head.
beeping and banging and beeping and banging.
and crumbling in stutters, re building then falling once again.

spectator in different seasons
of myself

flying up to a cabinet in the top corner
of the house you lived in
when you felt in necessary to prove
that you could fly
built to use, but impossible to get to

projects you won't finish
but still get away with
on a laptop borrowed
half devolped concepts
she will find later under a carpet on the side of the room
grass, green, jungles, and people who care for them
their legacies reduced to little stories
few and far between
not enough to fill the 5 pages
you won't get around to writing

you are refining your breaststroke
meanwhile always looking over
your unknowing
self
as they bet
and bite meat off dried fish
a relative offers one to you
knowing your name
but not the specifities of your relation

ascending and descending stairs
falling in love with the newly born you
-but keeping a safe distance
lest you get escorted out
for performing too much interest in
an unbeknowst party
of your past