by Ariella Ruth
8:36 pm mountain time
it’s time for something rhythmic and pointed. i recently heard that you could tell if a mountain is young or old based on the roundness of the top. so what i’d say is, from where i’m standing, we’re just blue turning wheels waiting for eastern weather. the train fogs and it’s just like the downtown station, but there are no crickets. my finger moves letters in air. i would kill every cricket in the world just to hear my dog breathing next to me on the kitchen floor. i could go the whole rest of my life without hearing a loon and it wouldn’t make any difference. they’re all werewolves to me anyways. a beak, yellow with ravaged fur. barefoot on green carpet all i can hear is the floor. she shuffles and breathes. the air is heavy and she’s on the porch involuntarily. has anyone stayed anywhere? to put numbers on you would be to count away my moments and bring us closer to shrouded thoughts. i crave to make a tunnel through a crowd. i’m sick of people telling me what to do with my FEET! where’s the carriage and pavement? i’ll ride slanted in the sun. the cricket outside my window thinks he’s a jester. this city-town is bizarre, hollow and wide. several times throughout the day i have to remind myself of my location. i need something in arms and ties and chairs and neck veins and neck veins and blue veins that only show at night. tired only above the neck. cuticles turned in dryness and heat and a falsely drawn mouth. no it’s not at all acceptable to assume that anyone wants to pay for your opera. the wrinkles don’t fall from being hung. humid, please go like sage to each corner of this room, in shelves and drawers and closets. in salem, he said “please remove any negative energy from this space and replace it with our most positive energy.” nights are ripe they are somehow still the hardest. it’s nice to meet you. are you my second child, are you? no one can eat eleven peaches in seven days. produce me. i see a pattern for vegetable fingers. maybe these leaves will wake up my hands. i could flip around on you until civil twilight and still not know a word. “she likes to travel around, she’ll love you and she’ll push you down.” “by all accounts it shouldn’t last long.” heart words with no body.
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