that's mrs. mediocrity to you

is a burden best discarded

.

i remember when you wanted to fight
about aphrodite

as if she were the threat
we needed to shield ourselves from

.

i remember all the light and love you sent
while the world was burning

the way you insulated yourself from reality
with yoga pants and fancy names for scented candles

(me, too)

.

i remember the shade you cast on all the words
you disagreed with

.

i want it all back

.

the irritation
the aggravation
the application

.

i want to laugh at bad jokes and
drunk-dance to sap-rock playlists

or whisper superstition while drawing
hexes in midnight circles

.

i want to pretend it doesn’t matter

i want i want i want i want

i want

.

there are words and then
there are words

.

we’ve forgotten what it’s like to be human

.

artificial intelligence is the oracle of pretense

.

tomorrow has always been uncertain
(and we pretend, now, that uncertain
is the same as unpredictable)

.

men have always been aggressors
women, protectors

(so they say)

.

mother earth, mother nature, mother mother
madonna-whore

.

roles reverse

.

we all want happy endings
and reality offers only
rainbow compromise

.

we learn from silence
but grow only in the
brutal fire of light

.

i said something once that meant something

in a dream somewhere with no one listening

.

you are my consummate nightmare

.

not you, of course

.

but you
standing there
all smiles

.

i remember the flames,
licking

.

every battle is bound
to be fought
in circles

.

i bend my will
to straight horizon

round earth

golden
reflection

.

.

.

.

.