I blame my parents

I think the last thing I wrote was a list, not the list of vocabulary words but something else.

A list of reaches, desperate

my mom came by last night, she dropped off some lemon fettuccine with shrimp

it was delicious

& perfect because I've been craving fettuccine since three sundays ago.

my stomach rode cradled in my pelvis

my brain was in my throat

my uterus had dropped & splattered in the steps of my feet.

but I turned upside down, in that bridge move

a real yoga move

and I stretched & my organs sort of congealed back to their places forawhile.

she said, do you have any idea how much I love you?

and I couldn't possibly,

and that made me cry

and does she have any idea what I think? what I've thought?

that I have the smoke of a thousand cigarettes for hair

that I have walnuts for a hand

that my fallopiantube legs were withered, so it was difficult to walk

and I tried to spring with just my feet

but they're too small

and the shells of my fingers turned to stone, they were all numb when I woke up.

she didn't make me all alone,

but I think about how everything funny is sad

and everything sad is sort of funny

and I wonder does it make that everything

devastating, tragic

is hilarious?

and then you said, no way, what's funny about your relative getting shot to death

and we both laughed so fucking hard at that

she didn't make me all alone,

but she knew what she was doing

she had to go get a reverse tubal ligation

& dad had to get something done, too

his sperm count was low

too much yellow 5, dad?

doin the dew?

they knew what they were doing. he was 29 when they met.

they knew that there would be a baby would be a human

and it would have to live

in the future

in this world

and it's a big place

but there's nothing bigger

than being shut up in your brain

which is still throat stuck

& choking

sustain hers

Sustain able, to think of two hipbones now. Never speak to me again, I don’t know the pelvis,
I’m starved for all of us.

Don’t worry treating sexual matters decentless. You’re not even near the beginning. I’ll take care displaying your favorite meat, my hand gently on her face, the subject horse. I am here, an edible European plant. I see her in nature; she stifled a tear and put the daisy near the potted flowers. I am a weed with him, with a long root like little icicles.

And guess what
He fucked her slow and a parsnip is standing on one foot, still. Just the way she wanted it. Slow, stately with pink cheeks, holds true after they finished. A piece of music and lips and we possibly forever will.

She looked at the seven stars; we stand and smile. Can’t see him near, and she puts her face in sight. “Are you the north pole?” Close to sightless eyes because I don’t love like a serum. And we touch, I wander; I love thin, watery.

I put my chin in her, sort of experiencing everything. I love the distant stars, warm with the other senses. Why don’t constellations smell her? Though to have a baby with fixed stars, we kiss more particular than any other. They were silent, not cold and we’re not paying any attention. Show me lavender, softly. The sun, she rolls in styrofoam... She looked at him, considering, a position requiring little nothing keep from touching you. Various types looked into his eyes, rinsing. We can’t really stop… and examples of vague and meager depressions looked into hers.