this is my first poem
since starting on zoloft
at night my face turns into sand
and begins to drip
i spend two albums & a moonbeam packing
it back to its usual form
choke myself with earbuds, quarantine
my hands from action
i attempt cocooned to pinpoint the
moment the seed began shaking
because i am
more scream than i am anything else
i revolve around my axis
four times in one day
and at alignment, feel
my lungs for the first time ever
crack black beetle eyes at the swell
of the soft wall
this is the shriveled corpse this the
raisin flesh
the person i wrote letters has shed
a secret name from my tongue
with frightened fingers frightening i make marks on my face
attempt enclosed to touch the moment
of transmission
into my palm the ancestral seed
the future
stain bloom