I had contended all of my life
With the urge to tunnel as far into the earth as possible
Thinking that, in this way, I could reach the sublime
(I wanted, more than anything, to exist without precedent)
Once I was not afraid to have strangers in my house,
Because the objects that could indict me would never be found
Once I had dreams that I told no one of
I dreamed of a row of disembodied male heads bobbing
I dreamed I collected four to six magazines and pulled down my pants
And positioned myself carefully over these male heads
And then shit in each of their mouths
Moreover, I dreamed that they had begged me to do this
And I dreamed that once I finished they cleaned me with their mouths
And then used those same mouths to make me come
Now I understand that nothing about me should appear whole
I understand that I must perform brokenness and vulnerability and need
Even if—
Especially if—
I feel none of those things
One morning I’m woken by a smell
Our cold medicine has simmered on the stove all night,
Cayenne, ginger, lemons, and honey, and I have slept poorly, I froze
around eleven—
The radiators failed
To brighten and hum,
And my cats deserted me
Now the bedroom like a dipped urn fills slowly with sunlight
As I swing my feet to the floor, and consider the state of my legs