you kept repeating the same
patterns that alienate me so i
went away from you and
reenacted us with plastic bottles
while the lesbian ghost tried
to have sex with me

with my finger in the slab of fog
i draw a map of us
and perform our relationship
with a shampoo and conditioner bottle
as the lesbian ghost who haunts my shower looks on
with yellow hair tangled among pink ribs
i know she comes from 1944
i know she almost survived
i don’t know how many times i’ve told her
you’re a minor nothing will happen between us
i don’t want tea now stop coming in when i’m naked
but she doesn’t listen
she stands there akimbo with teacups at her feet
and stares the whole time i am in the shower
vapour weaves a cemetery path
the thing accelerating
with every morsel of its thingness
the refusal of the thing to condense
for want of constant heat and enormity
in a towel i perform our relationship
with a shampoo and conditioner bottle
and it is the pinnacle of my performance art career
until i remember miranda july has already done this
with shoes
and i think fuck
but the ghost doesn’t mind and claps her tiny hands