ShayneBailey

at 2 this morning it rained for the first time since we delivered ourselves        here, where i feel close to            sage &  brush            blushed & chapped            with altitude &            wild   wild   things in the west,            wild in a different way                than i am familiar with, where the blistered crater of the valley cradles & nestles us           out of sight mountain ranges               locked tight, so much like            hands clasped in prayer                        or grief          probably, where i expect            at any moment            to befriend a            tumblew

i. on the other side: dread sores pulse smoke & the dirge sounds, & the bell tolls,      a morning toast      to surviving the night revelry like shrapnel brief & blinding      an endless watch      for the endless night constant vigilance for the heartsick a disease that      creeps & slithers      decays &               withers - floodlights act as sudden dawn as i fly      fangs gnashing      claws curling champions of light chanting my name as they hunt as i run crying havoc & porch lights act as signals home as i fly      already half undressed      through the            weeping fog toward my nest, heavy black drapes slu

i. One of us is not what we pretend to be I confess, often it is me— quaking thighs of fire and rind        wide wild        orange wedge smiles        thunder and grime tangy rot    in the gut curling wild flame              in the gut I will caress the corners of your split hungry lips as a cigarette bitter breath, a thousand burning deaths— burning curling flesh        a thousand voiceless breaths        a thousand sacrifices to flame    that come in waves frightening phantoms            come in waves            crushing waves I will resurrect sinking nights to rise from the grave as moths buried in angles of cloth,

I. Monday, and I cannot get out of bed. Scratchy, stained sheets wrap around me as a death shroud. I revel in the aloneness, cry out at the aloneness, make love to the silence, desperate and reaching for god. Runny nose, a headache from last week comes back to life. Muscles ache. Everything aches. I come up for air, sharps inhales that drag against my mottled lungs. Consider quitting smoking. Consider making toast, but the soft flesh of my ear yawns, pops, awake, and I can hear you bustling about, getting ready for work. Are you as tired as I am? I am afraid to get up, afraid to ask you. The toilet flushes, a spray of cologne and a quic

The death of me: a hiccup a slip a misspoken word or two and a limp dick, split spitty cracked lips and rotted teeth like vampire fangs to me; a heaving cough a trecherous laugh a deep rumbling and a smoky exhale, dying lungs running to catch up with the fire in your singing brain (knotted, whirled fingers plucking at the sticky strings of my muscles drumming at my spine pulsing tongue cramming my mouth beating you into me) freckles dusting at your shoulders, the sun in your eyes ballooning into a supernova; sickly-sweet and so warm too warm as your sweet stitched pink skin curls in on itself edges ragged and chewed, a taut shiny scar wink

A slow yawn first breakfast of dawn tangled like yarn in the sheets, wide vampire eyes swallowing everything, daywalkers in the streets I can't feel anything but teeth pulling me apart seam by seam I un-know everything and neatly, all at once I am pressed between long arms, ravenous limbs, cries dying in the back of my throat my heart swallowed in the back of my throat words caught behind my lips, lush lips pressed between my thighs a sigh sweet bellows of desire I am pressed between the world and you all at once caught by daylight in my eyes the sky so sharp and clean; breathing is too much for me ice in my lungs, breathe breathe, you are t

I know that I am a stranger;    the heat sneaks quickly in (a slow burn, if you will) and threatens to eat you up. Animals chase around your limbs like wildfire, leaving blackened ruins in their wake (you are a pagan princess, imagine). They itch under your flaking skin, growling red monsters explode from your eyeballs. You want more than anything to drown them. Angry red sores bubble up (you are hideous). I know that you once treated your dog very poorly. If people knew, what would they say (god, can you imagine?)?                                             If you were the kind of person that looked nice in            hats - ?      

Cease fire; the commute downstairs and sleepy beehives the trecherous slope backward daylight savings time. Apathy in the bubblebath apathy in the cupboards apathy in sweet creases of the covers, a parade of lambs impersonate the neighbors lock the door. Tendrils of wild curling hair caught in my teeth, breakfast swirled fingerprints, hollowed chest, cave-man brow, eyelash, hobbit feet. Madness, an aching in the loins, bursting organs bursting bursting Homesickness; the collective sigh and mute birds a purging of the gut vomit in the sink. Anxiety in the corners anxiety in the shower anxiety in the sour fingers of a smoker, bitten bloody na