The holographic swimsuit period of my life is over!
My green stems are turning grey and my grey stems
are turning dead. I pray to a black-and-white portrait
of Stevie Nicks at 23, sad-eyed and perfect, because
she is not a saint. All the cows in my hometown
see me driving past them at two in the morning, looking
for some text message reading “You’re mine” lost years ago.
Where is the Japanese body pillow for my tired heart?
When will Jesus Christ fulfill my sexual desires?
Who will see the bags under my eyes and say,
Congratulations, no one deserves this more than you.
I have the appetite of a bicycle. Blue sedans
make me nervous. Today in the grocery store:
a pang of loneliness upon seeing a frozen package
of stir-fry for two. I am followed by ghosts
with wedding dress bodies waiting to smother me
in my sleep. Though sometimes they hold my head
with an unspeakably bright love.