11:00

I had a dream last night where I was escorted to see a man in a laboratory, who was trimming the dead branches off of a small plant. He was speaking Latin and I asked him what he wanted; he told me to forget my ideas and my mind.

"Why should I lose what I know?"

"Because," he said, "I am going to teach you everything."




I woke up, repeating his words in my head.




I feel my thoughts falling off of with my skin and I am happy with my hallucinations of imagination where I create scenes and lines that are something of beauty, even if they have been filtered with the dirt of my ego. I am only full when I write, like I am sticking cotton back into the empty spaces of my organs because I have eaten myself; I have cannibalized my limbs and fingers, my eyes are made of marble, phosphorescent from future pollution. I am born again and again and again, but with the same mind, whose frontal lobe is the only piece I have fingered. I feel like I cannot think through the close-to-summer rain which is just imbricated color, layered like a person. My own universe of friendship, work, idea, and love (which I have only had patience for) is so expansive when I braid my eyelashes that I laugh over my desire to understand the Cosmos and the order of G(g)od, which may be an expression of the same thing, like how science and poetry are split embryos. 

I am giving most of my possessions away, even my library, as I do not want to feel responsible for any of it; I have the weight of sanity and words on my uterus, which is all I can bear. It is raining and I am alive, and I am born again and again and again and I am in everything I see; I am alive and in a female body, which means I have chosen happiness and beauty. I live to touch all beautiful things. I want to celebrate by talking, and making love.

I was born with a violent and dark thing inside of me, but it has grown intelligent; through time, it has become gentle. Or perhaps all of this is fear, which is only a thought that can be easily disregarded.



I have coffee and cream, sparkling water, and cake; I have hands and fingers and dried skin on my lips. I am surrounded and stitched with the complexity of life.