me, drunk, reading Mr. P’s poem

for Jane

my heart
is like
a graveyard
and people
are dying
to get in

3.55 am
saturday
volda
norway

my heart
a graveyard
and people
are dying
to get in

i wear
black cotton tights
black mid-thigh length sweatshirt skirt
black boat neck top
chipped black nailpolish
smudged black eyeshadow
week-old black hairdye

my heart
a graveyard
people dying
to get in

i podcast my ramblings my beliefs
in love rapture volcanoes
my slight complexes
about my accent

my heart
a graveyard
people dying in

outside the ghosts
of our love stumble
thru the paralytic winter
make love
with abandoned snowwomen

my heart
a dying graveyard

slip inside
hurl them out
onto the white ground speckled
with cigarette ash volcanic ash

my dying heart

& i light another
smoke swirling
out the apartment
towards the dawn

dying