whiskey plus water. movie theater. dont watch the screen. or listen. i person place thing. the boy next to me's catholic. the girl next to him’s picking her skin. when the film's finished, we walk home. a cold wind, starfucked sky. clusters of empty light fighting with the moon for shine time. when we reach b's doorstep, he begscome on, elizabeth come on inside. shaking my head yes requires more effort than no.

back at the apartment: cat shit in the kitchen. a cold bed, cigarette. my sister saying fuck as she slams her door shut.

pizza with russia & others. talk about marriage, dropping acid. for hours afterward, we walk around the neighborhood or sit on the sofa. sometimes i find myself thinking so these are friends! & wondering why i have to remind myself.

more & more i cant tell the difference between sound & silence. numb in a desk, sprawled on a stranger’s sofa. so many strong opinions! facts stacked like a stairwell; i need a handrail. am losing my will. to be mostly mouth, to form thoughts worth. im turning towards stillness. scribbling its story. tossing cognition into the trench. fuck higher enlightenment. time to cull my body into existence.

sober at the bar. silent in the car. can’t be bothered to move or speak when the stars are inhaling. this room wants nothing to do with you. the sofa sinks beneath yr weight, door swings open/shut open/shut as an invitation—leave. but leave? home is a porch pace, kitchen where fleas fuck in half-eaten boxes of triscuits. conversations here are tried on, tossed off. if the boy sitting next to you turns the light off, it means yr going to be touched. in the morning, the sun will shun yr nakedness. you’ll befriend a tree. the neighbors wont wave back. repeat.

let the hours rot. beneath my bed there is only cat fur. on top i shift across sheets trying to sleep. headache, stomach cramp, books with split spines. sister bitches about the laundry, the smell of smoke folded into the creases of my body.

when the phone doesnt ring, i know its him.

HOW SMALL THEY ARE, HOW FAR AWAY

dread sunday’s swarm already. m’s welcome home party. her highschool friends all noise, boys rolling joints while their girls chant fuck! omg! so drunk! & little lizzy? loud & lonely, clumsy on a couch spilling beer on my striped sweater. ill set my stage & spin. will piss on all conversations, hike my skirt up only to shake it loose in a series of quick hip twists. i arrive only to leave. i leave only to come home to a cat with fleas, my sister smoking on the front stoop.

school slays. all this sleeplessness, stomach cramps. am already taking naps in the library, curled between stacks on nazi germany or the cold war. my classes are an intolerable bore. mainly, i slip in/out of consciousness. dream with eyes stretched wide. dream too many things. this semester’s already rendered me a smoke & mope. ive got ash in my belly. when i move, i make sifting sounds.

shoved in a backseat. head on a stranger’s knees. slit moon shining in troughs of empty light. i fight with the night. there are no stars to ask forgiveness from. no lone shade trees to curl beneath. am trapped between body & seat. the car weaves, heeds no stoplight/sign. i pray for saftey, from what, i am unsure. the car or the clumsy breaths of a stranger watching shadows in a room somewhere.

boring the bark from the trees. pet my cat till her fur shrieks. smoke a cigarette. drink rolling rock till hills, oh hills rolling within.

carey at work. steph tucked. i wait. keep house casually.

bored. drink a rolling rock. charm the moon closer to my stoop. squint from the shine. call strangers hoping they’ll answer.

pet the cat. scratch the top of my sock. complex is dead. cant even watch neighbor’s take showers, move soundlessly room to room. try reading poems; they’re swollen. lines fat with adjectives. how many ways to say lover lost, alone in a park?

the story of stillness has returned. quit my job, finished my finals which means spending days staring at the handless clock of my wall, nights sitting motionless on a stranger’s couch, gasping in a bar. at the bar, everyone’s mouth’s impossibly round, skin dirty, ashen really. when i touch them, bits of skin flake off. come midnight, i leave covered with flesh i can’t place.

sheets reek of self. tried washing them. again & again. the stench of my body remains. even when he sleeps over, days at a time. the sheets refuse to absorb any of his sweat, shampoo residue. when he falls asleep, i smoke a cigarette, sniff the edges of my mattress.

tonight: another party. every room full of the sort of darkness that stuns you into silence. the stillness of sitting on a carpeted surface, someone blahing about brian wilson. left early. drove home. the road lit, air before me thick. had to squint to see further than two feet, pull over repeatedly to just to breathe.

show up slurry. liver whip a few bitches then incest talk like baby its the best. gasp, gasp. some lesbian telling me im the best she's ever had not quiet yet. the boy in the sweater. the boy in the sweater. hashish. wine spilt on cashmere.

p.s. more on the "vodka spit" party later.

bored like insides lined with linoleum. like spit & watch the molecules split. carey says wine! but they dont have the right kind at the store so back to the apartment.

on the porch, the moon too close to bitch about a single thing,