My Headspace

My Headspace

Spring crosses the scream body, I am
above numb, blurring out the unlink, and I shouldn’t have been as mad then, and then
I cross the layering body still
my fingers on my body, let in 
each headspace
Paid. By scrapping my dried black blood off good
on-you type, me
screaming you good
Me accidentally
touching too tight in hold
a new mourning, “OK”
“OK” “OK”
“OK” “OK” 
as embodiment forced every self stoning
spiral over in teachings, like a medal amor 
fati the body to lay still and 
defining

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I wrote the first draft of this piece in 2018, started revisions in spring/summer 2020 isolation, and called it “good” in preparations to read live for the first time in 2022. I revised again, kind of picking at it over a few hours this morning, in review before sending now. Sending more poetry now—