i woke up in the shower, ginger candy on my tongue
"how long has that been there," i thought,
failing to wonder how long i have been in the shower
the water on my eyes
the mesmerizing light and all of it dissipating subserviant death particles
but that is selfish, okay:
we are doomed.
if they ever look, oh lord, if they even peak
the talking, until what is want is heard and i go quiet again
i woke in that dress. the same dress i wore to the funeral and to the BBQ the day after that, but i didn't care much until i woke in that dress, to word of a brand new death. OD. pieces of it floating to my waking. dead for hours before anyone called an ambulance. blue flesh. are you happy he died in his sleep? isn't that what we all dream and pray and death dance for anyway? asleep, on memorial day, in the arms of his lover.
he came to my home every christmas and was sad one year because everyone was wearing red but him. my parents bought him a red shirt the next christmas. he was wearing the shirt when in the bed, in the arms of his lover, she leaves for cigarettes, returns to turn him over, blue flesh, in the ambulance, pronounced dead.
in the shower, my colored domes are dissolving. save them fore they drift down the drain, licking the bottom of bathtubs. bathtubs are my sacred homeland. pour me a refill, i rock in the tub until the waves bodies make spill out the side on the floor oh the floor is the tub the tub is the floor and i am the bathroom. i am all over the bathroom by now, me my molecules and i.
wears me out. where's my out?
the heat of the red sun melting our flesh blue. the icy hot warmth of the blue gel burning our flesh red. warming and cooling and doing it over again. seasonal. circular, imperfectly. in harmony, and wet. wet enough to drown.