How to Address Your Blip Status
It happens as it always does, again and again. At night Second Avenue moves. Garbage cans and overturned coffee cups shake their tail feathers and the displaced rats still will not take credit. No one believes in them, as they trust only what they animate. I am calling my parents names and dates. John F Kennedy 1960 I need help with the rent. They are listening up and down nose to the ground sniffing for something, call it understanding, finding a truffle instead. I am putting an outfit together that changes itself, I am putting the homeless man to sleep in the picture, no he must be attentive, I am giving him a banana and a ticket for the time machine but he says travelling makes him weary and he is already so tired. He says he will turn the banana into a straw and bob it in his beer. I am visiting the forest to see what clings to me and later, sleeps in my bed. I am born again as a woman and I am never wanting to wash off the afterbirth. My face is green with repetition while the following mantras keep me nauseous:
I will keep talking about birthday cards
I will not talk inside myself
I will cup the sun in my hands like it’s the most noble firefly
I will have all the planets fall at my feet, again and again.