artificial recently i've had a hard time feeling real i find my hands becoming sunsets at their own will-- voice acrylic-- oil paint lips smearing all over my own wrists was it you who made me this way? turned me all cherry cough drop & pine tree air freshener-- cellophane wrapped my body-- plastic pierce me o microwave goddess whose prayer is hum-- you count the freckles on my face like head-up pennies for luck-- do i taste like spearmint? like a stick of wriggly's gum? what do you do to make yourself feel real? for me it's the water-- i take a shower & assume that if i don't dissolve that i am likely a real there is of course the possiblity that the shower isn't real either-- or i slipped down a drain years ago & this is just a memory you had of me-- i used to keep tally marks day by day by day to measure the passage of time-- to ensure the moon did it's duty & measured herself into nothing-- i think i think about the moon so much because i sympathize-- i feel my body swelling-- taking up the entire sky-- fingers pointing down my throat-- it was you who swallowed the stars & was bold enough to smile-- until i was a fourteen year old girl fading-- night furnace grinning me into a sliver & a smirk-- how often do you get on your knees anymore? do you ever draw blood to see if there's still rivers in you? convinced it will come out blue & syrup-- snowcone kiss me until i am sticky sleep-- i have come to the conclusion that i am likely a hologram-- or a series of tarot cards laying face up on a wooden table or a glint of light winking off your rear-view mirror as you adjust it on the highway home i am not driving home-- my body was back there laying next to you you make me feel less artificial-- like bare feet like ice cubes like a handful of bird throats i want to walk in your voice & stay there-- leave my shoes by the door when you kiss me do i taste like spearmint? when you touch me i believe in the quiets of my own blood-- i turn off the lights-- straddle dark-- moon fade again beside you