Puddles quiver out of anxiety– my country stretches
its fingers over its neighbor’s waist and catches the tremor.
I am turning
into less and less, day by day:
I live with a cat, it is in me,
it is black. It refuses to leave
or stop clawing my body
from the inside. (I hate it.)
[It is no longer clear
lends to my
Less than a month’s gap between this boy and that:
I am already in another’s lap unlearning how to kiss the first.
reminder: time is irrelevant and non-existent.
reminder: all mistakes are forgivable as long as
they hurt none other than yourself.]
hand me white flags
I surrender, into new arms, into new alarms. The chandelier clinks. Newspapers line my dinner table. I admit: I am afraid. Nothing subsists.