The wind smokes my cigarette for me & then the rain
puts it out My throat hurts anyway I’m probably coming down
with a cold & indulging in mild forms of self-destruction is good
for avoiding the harsher kinds I have a friend who sits under an acorn tree
& waits for one to bulletpoint her skin I can only write about pain conceptually
because everything else is so small a rain drop could put it out Everything
inside me is so tiny you could put it out with your thumb & forefinger
& not even feel the pinch The copper mine in a penny The lit-up window
of my Minnesotan grandmothers cabin Behind it the whole family decided
they were proud of me for calculus & for the violin & then
a few years later disappointed about the godlessness & the women
before we turned out the lights My chemicals slanted pills changed
from little blue to little yellow There’s no last call on conversation in grandma’s
kitchen In the quiet that snow makes all around a wooden house she
tells me how much she adores Ellen DeGeneres the wink in her voice means
she knows & here with the switch down & gin-drunk men all asleep
it’s alright more than alright It’s like the time I was six on the dock & she
asked me to count the stars in the sky together & I said Grandma You can’t count
the stars in the sky they’re infinity! & she said I was the most special I lick
my wounds like a kitten three times or more daily let sleep call me in & out
for the rest I purge special & unique from my body like lightbulbs chattering
& giving up A squeeze before nothingness & maybe a last glitter
in the broken glass Squash the junebug when she’s already
down to get the brightest neon out of her dying