start by having a months long crush you can’t shake — it’s not love, just a bionic tender cauldron of
salt and shape
see yourself, see the world through the eyes of other
every interaction is a rupture between the real
and your own plunging sensations
wake up in the middle of the night every night for 6 weeks
tell yourself it’s all for art, for poetry
grow increasingly more delusional
live on cyclical time: go on a bender in march. spend the summer with the air-conditioning cranked
high, in bed, until a pothole forms that warps your back. for the two weeks of fall take a walk everyday.
in january eat soup
keep a jar of prisms on your desk
grow increasingly more aware of what liberation and desire have to do with each other
charcoal does more than burn
inside the hollow molten core of a world, it sits, it waits
write everyday for 836 days and counting
write everyday, cut it all up and translate it into other forms of art
start a harem with the intent to radicalize them through revolutionary text
each poem is a webbing
waiting to swallow you up in its fiberglass and static electricity
spray yourself with magnolia and seasalt perfume in the places you’d like to be kissed
wait outside all night in the cold gleam of street lights and open-ended rapture
what rot clings to the hair, the nails, the teeth, the knees? what rot remains written in the patterns of
decay
stare at a dimly lit mauve wall for three hours, take notes
learn to press flowers, carefully print poems on their paper petals
write i want i want i want til the pen bleeds metallic across the palms
dissolve spit in spit while the pearly blackness oozes out
learn to recognize how each poem smells
get high before you write, get high after you write — set the thresholds as elevation
mingle ideas on identity with the flushed capacities of breath
listen to the same song on repeat until your neighbors knock on your door
draw little maps connecting one idea with another
cut your hair off
it’s all fabric, not volcano
dissolve the voice of your desire into the choral ocean of pluralistic devotion
use the word botanical in 10 separate sentences
reach far into yourself until there’s nothing staring back at you except your own 1200 eyes
it ends with spitting a shard of an oyster shell out
transforming it into a text
a love poem