burrow

you traced along the freckles on my back
with black ink,
like a crumpled constellation

i looked at the picture and smiled,
like a lonesome girl reading her diary aloud to an audience

burning

i feel the gravitational pull
of a single red dot buried deep beneath the snow of antarctica,
i will take to the ground floor

the sun gets brighter

i have watched thirty-three variations of the ‘harlem shake’ today

i hung dry coral on fishing lines from my ceiling

i shut my eyes and walk calmly around my bedroom, arms extended

i hide from lightning because i am afraid the violet strikes will penetrate my clammy skin

my words float around my head; a bivouac circling me

i see metal pipes where my bones should be

the elevator music quickens and i am afraid the hand will spin so quickly

poem titled either “distorted self-reflection is necessary to remain alive” or “to avoid a nervous breakdown, repeat: i am improving as an individual”

that confusing mass above our heads will be black, then blue, then orange, then black again and i will feel the same each time the colors shift

soon i will be in a different place with different feelings and everything will be balanced

one day i will be you and have your tan skin and white teeth and shiny hair

i watch my digital clock compulsively, but the looming neon numbers shift so slowly and i focus so hard that i can feel my hair growing

this is a very long song with lots of space between notes and no guitar solos, but i have my ipod on shuffle and hopefully the next song will be shorter and have more solos

i mark off each day on my calendar and put a black tally on my wall, counting down to something; i have counted 6,346 days and i think i feel the same as the first day

in fifty days the leaves will be red and my lungs will be stronger and each breathe i take will be deeper