By Chloe Cordasco
Art by Akshee Chopra
cw: references to sexual assault, addiction
after Kazim Ali
A car starts in the parking lot, remotely.
It must have been remotely. I see no one.
No shivers, no calves, no knee-length puffers, no clue.
I have absolutely no clue, no one. No one clue.
Let us count the things I do have — nausea, cloudiness, hip dips and too much coffee. My sisters addicts like me, the trees that will never love me, a burning poisonous unrequited humming in the very center of the universe (misplaced).
I have the spiders I do not snuff out, the guests overstayed and staying — for better or for worse — the sorry excuse of words, words, words, more words, money, more money, less money, money, money, less words.
I mean it. I mean less. I am not clueless.
Not to suggest that language and a clue are brothers; if they are brothers they gather their silphium up in arms and fuck and rape and conquer (they want me to say seduce) together.
Who knows, they might get into it together. It’s incest, but sex this time. (May I watch?)
I have sunflowers, the concept, and the actuality of rain but I lack its metaphor.
Maybe, baby, sometimes, things are just too hard. Some things just ache.
We have to go back to accounting. Let’s see.
I have cold plastic ass and period underwear that might give me cancer one day (high-waisted, black with sheer, gorgeous; ty thinx) and binder, chains tears n smoke.
I’ve got good working pen The Cure many cures and of course a plethora of neuroatypicalities to choose from: your heart, your tongue, your beating brain, your fogged up smoky soul.
I’ve got effusive friends, in love and in hate with the idea of fruit and each other, thin wire railings and railings, comforter, memories I’d like to lose.
I’ve got my sanity — wolves — hard fucking time — golden gold. Gold dawn peering over GOLD coast, breathing Sunrise breathing out of here into here, slow now, slow down, baby you can make it here.
I’ve got good. Good good, that good good love, so much good, good to give good to take, and a parking lot to cry in. Got it good.
I’ve got it all.