I have to put my ear to the carpet to hear the music. There is a thumping in my chest and I understand that the goodness left once and forgot where it was headed. Girl #8 calls and says I feel like a drawbridge every time I think about you thinking about me. We have phone sex even when it’s light out. Girl #3 is making a documentary about her heart. In it I say Do you need some water? Three weeks later I’m sleeping on the floor. I don’t remember how Girl #5 tastes, I just remember counting the cigarette butts. I listen to a song and it goes But if you’re worried about the weather, then you picked the wrong place to stay. You can see my pores open when I yawn. Have you ever been stuck in a sun shower? So confusing.
I only look under my bed when the sun beats the blinds. Today I ask God if He’s tired of lumping my body together every morning. I am wild like that. I tried to unmask the ground but there were so many layers I got bored. I turned on the TV. They tied Mel Gibson to a table, kneaded his limbs like Play-Doh. I wanted to call him and say They really stretched you out, huh? but instead I boiled some water. Rotini tastes different than elbows even though they’re made from the same thing. I am in love with her textured moans, her long distance phone calls. She’s so gone they barely reach my chin. I have cried so many days there is a river under my bed. The monster has grown gills, webs between its toes. Pretty the monster says. How the sun creeps into a lost heart eventually.