sometimes a tupperware container can double as a missing person’s report

I’ve got a lacrymatory made from terra-cotta, but notice the one made of glass too. This one is pear-shaped without the skin or stem. And I am counting my tear drops and have run out of numbers. I compare its salt to what licks off my tongue. With each drop, I drop it in. A tomb/ a vessel/ a suitcase for the well-traveled sad.

I knew [her] from that time we took a walk in Prospect Park. I knew [her] from knowing someone else. We got lost against the backdrop of green, barbecue smoke, frisbees and brown. At night, [she] recorded [her] voice on the radio and afterwards, we got high, pressed bodies against buildings and savored the art of blind kissing.


I asked [her] how queer [she] really was and [she] took out all [her] notebooks.
“Read these. From back to front. Because I never really started at the beginning. It really begins at the end.”


[She] came to the dungeon once. Just watched. Walked off a few times, so there could have been some simulation. We talked a lot about Diane diPrima as queers got bound, punched, cut, fucked, and pierced. I could feel [her] weave in and out of our conversation like a dolphin dipping its head out of water. To me….to what was goin’ on in the corner…back to me…back to elsewhere.


I was only trying to remove the lacerations of memory. [She] said that to me, as our bodies practiced silence, nude and tethered by scars and hooks.


Here’s a good one: It was August and the rain came fast, toppling over us. We had been moving slowly from block to block. [Her] hand gripped mine and there was so much heat, I felt like we were melting and burning and sticking to each other. We forced our wet bodies into the wine shop on the corner. I’d like to drink Spain tonight, [she] said. We drank Chile too.


Well, I knew [her] from poetry. Read [her] and watched [her] several times on various stages I got on too. Baked [her] a crumble once. We made out on two benches. Once, with coffee between [her] palms and hot water with lemon and honey in mine, [she] asked me to count [her] teeth.


Oh, we knew each other before the alteration of language. Before [she] lost [her] mind. It’s somewhere in the Pacific, [she] said. We used to count sea glass, hide it in the excess of our sweaters or pockets. I always searched for green. [She] felt giddy each time there was blue or the clear with bits of writing still on it.


I want to visit a place where no ghosts exist and I don’t exist but what does exist is salt. Is sea. Is oak. Is dandelion. Is hylomorphism. Is hopscotch. Is soil. Is rust. Is igneous. Is carbon. Is green. Is blue. Is protists. Is music made from the instrumentation of footsteps. Is sap. Is harvest. Is orange. Is red. Is red. Is movements. Is nothing, but…nothing, but…everything.

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