waking up alone
the infinite possibilities of the entire cosmos flood into my head before i open my eyes
every particle collides and every life-form borns and dies
waking up alone
the day is endless and untainted and has more hours than a year
waking up alone
i think that i might finally finally finally go to the isabella stewert gardner museum and even though i’ve paid full admission to see all the art just pick a single chair overlooking the indoor garden and write in my journal
and maybe go to the museum bookstore and buy her biography and then read that sitting in the chair too
waking up alone
i let my thoughts trawl and crawl and stay disconnected from lists and from people and from my body electric and i shine into my own brain
waking up alone
i look out the window and see a world i never see once i’m out the front door the
unique and abominadle shapes and sounds of things
and how color can look like music and
the way the sun light falls blinding on a tree branch and the wind is failing to knock off those stubborn dead leaves
and i get
that people need to believe in god
waking up alone
i think i might spend some time today drawing or learning how to paint
waking up alone
i never want to touch my phone or my computer again
waking up alone
i am a brain i am a lone i am a lert i am a ware
waking up alone i make my self giggle and wrap my body deep within the quilt cocoon and stretch like a bored cat and bite my pillow
waking up alone i let the phrases of the day before unstick themselves from the walls of my memory and arrange themselves into threesomes of lyrics
waking up alone
i think about the idea of undertaking everything
and i think about how an undertaker is for the dead
and then i think about overtaking
and i think about giant mack trucks crashing on the highway
and i think
undertake
overtake
undertake
overtake
and i smile
waking up alone
i write volumes of poetry as easy as adding boiled water to instant fucking oatmeal
and throw them away
and dont care
waking up alone
i consider my trace of a hangover from a unique perspective
waking up alone
the only thing
in existence
is me
and my awkward fleshy pre-corpse headed to our little death and the ecstatic joy in countdown while gravity nails me to this spinning bed
waking up alone
is basically
masturbation.
……………….
waking up with neil
the universe collapses into a single white hair on an unshaven face
the blade of grass
the man i love
the sleepy-toothed
mad
man
waking up with neil
i violently wrap my limbs around his body like a coat of paint
and wonder
is it possible to get closer closer closer
maximizing the surface area of our bodies connecting to each other
waking up with neil
the light from the window
reflecting off the dead leaves
exists only
to illuminate his eyelashes
his lips
which are a moon-curved line
a half-a-parentheses
leaving his face an open-ended thought
waking up with neil
the endless possibilities are only what i can love
there is no end there is no boundary there are no rules there is no spoon there is no dana there is only neil
waking up with him
i fall into the cult of two
the sweet and intoxicating dogma of the other
i am the owned i am the owner i am the luckiest
girl
in
the
world
waking up with neil
the real estate of feet and earlobes and chests and backs is totally foreclosed
the deal is done
waking up with neil
i want to use a person as a blanket
i want to crawl inside his mouth and go back to sleep inside his lungs
waking up with neil
i think in the poetry of my hands and not my words
i write without a pen of the mind but with a trace of a finger and the means of every romantic lyric i ever imagined has ended in the final ideal
waking up with neil
i keep my eyes closed but i don’t go in
i stay out
there is no sweeter sensation
than being admired
while not fully conscious of where your body begins and ends
waking up with neil
our narcissisms swell and collapse like rogue waves
and we forget the planet
locked in its orbit
and we forget the day
locked in its calendar
and we forget the room
locked in its house
and we forget ourselves
locked in each other
waking up with neil
is basically
sex.
……………….
waking up with a third party
is a
whole
nother
poem.
I read the poem and found myself blinking back tears.
We don’t write poems when we’re together, only when we’re apart.
Then I looked at the photo and thought “We have new bedroom furniture!”
I love being human.