musings

suppose i meet death in the park

and she is sitting on a bench and feeding the pigeons. i chew

blue bubble gum on the bus ride home and all the people look like

abstractions. suppose when death put her warm hands on the sleeve

of my jacket and tugged she replaced me with something else. a cardboard

cutout. my parents take scissors when i arrive on the front porch and

slice me in two and i smile. suppose i take off my clothes and all the stars

pour out. i forgot that i went home with the universe last night. i forgot

whether i swallowed fire or whiskey. i go to the drugstore at three in the morning

and buy superglue so i can stick all the stars back on the sky because they've grown

sick of me. and the people still dance like puddles of drunken light, like the

rejects of the heavens. i'm afraid to look the world in the eye because i'm afraid

it might blind me. suppose i meet god in the liquor aisle and she hates me. suppose

i'm looking at my reflection in the cold glass. the voice on the loudspeaker tells me

i've been playing god my whole life. that i don't know how to be mortal. the cashier looks at the stars on my neck and smiles with bloody teeth and blonde hair.

i go home and strip myself of my skin and my body doesn't know where to go anymore.

i'll sit by my windowsill and watch the stars disappear. they remember the way home.

i traverse the maps of my body, stand at the doors to myself. nothing welcomes me back.