Life on Repeat


A thousand mornings I think
damn, it’s this day again.
Blue skies so fucking normal,
it burns my eyes.
The fresh air here
closes my lungs like
fungus encasing cheese,
eating away my enzymes.
I decide to cook instead
of cry or kill.
I make this house of leaves
smell of turmeric, tomato,
coconut.
And I’m happy then,
when I scald my palm
on the simmering pan
forgetting it’s this day again.




Guilt


How many people did I poison
before we knew?
With my spittle flying
into the night not knowing
my body was full of napalm.
The cocoon out back hosted,
hostile, doubt it’ll become
a blue-black butterfly,
more like a grey moth
eating the fabric
from my skin.
This is summer without
beaches or lakes or love
in your eyes. The brown
has gone red, a tired fire
forms in the creases
of your spine.

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