fiction
these florid apologias
7 years of language ripples out,
alternately delicate & loutish.
I know you wish I would be impassioned less,
be blonder, and wear a sundress.
I resent the sculptors who cite porcelain as a symbol of bourgeois purity & pleasure,
but I want to be like a type of thing that you would treasure,
with your fine taste. I’m sorry I must live in a state of common abjection
unknown to a man of your high connection.
fluttering in this cruel mesh, I land where I can.
I am a woman; that’s something you can’t understand.
...
​
I’m nervous to talk
about anything
​
should the words smudge this
pharmakon gloss of aphrodisia
off the surface of the night
​
<><><>
ooh baby you’re so fine
you’re so fine you might never be mine
blows my mind that a man like you
could love a girl like me
probably cause you don’t
not real surprised you won’t
ooh baby you’re so fine
you’re so fine you might never be mine
probably cause you don’t
not real surprised you won’t
<><><>
​
Lennon said if you live in the Roman Empire,
why not live in Rome?
Don’t we all pray for a map.
You’ve become 7 years new,
but we still click in the same wonderful ways.
The taxidermied chimpanzee hangs,
mustily behind glass,
wearing a small red cap-
stuffed and adorned for the amusement of an epoch.
We both weep in movies about the American Dream.
To live in the land of cut flowers.
To walk elegantly through these cobbled streets with you,
my friend.