Now And At The Hour Of Our Death
The fine hairs on her shoulder
her back, her belly
tickle my lips
as her name
floats away
in the sea breeze
I wake
I own property
deep in the desert
barrel cactuses dot
the otherwise
sparse land
my feet hurt- walking for days
the wind sighs and carries
no promise of life- my belly aches
why did I leave?
I can barely see
a harem of instagram thicc
viking women
reach for me but
I am no longer flesh
the wind sweeps
me out the door
as their nipples harden and their legs open
where?
no sight...
no shapes...
no colors...
a chemo patient
breathes me in like YHWH
from the plastic tip of a vape pen
light splintered and refracted
filtered through wet shower curtains
breathed out
tumbled out
pulled and flipped out
up is infinite
in directionless space
time scattered
in trillions of implosions
what is nothing?
liquid warmth
cold light
dry pain
soft and full
today I learned my mother’s name
is Miriam
and I am made of myths