sat / O O O O O

O Lina

I will never be sober, the sky a tumultuous blue wrenching winter, all tucked in, the black cats under the car. O Lina I am high maintenance, says of the woman who knows how to walk & hold her shoulders, countenance. There’s a denim sale Lina, O there’s coasters & potting soil & the day reverberating I get in the car, I turn the car on, I turn, I turn swanlike in my hewed state, hands limned into being as in Mary her Pieta, as, son do not drop me. I have enough about me to know he could. The sky parts mal-orange Olympian & he is there, militated to ramparts that blast the heavens like a hammer.

feb 5