I have nine faces for my nine hours of consciousness they are one swollen and beautiful two swollen and ugly three swollen and sinking four turning blue five I ate a salmon like a great alaskan bear six my psychiatrist said beers are like benzos but less addictive seven I fell asleep on the carpet eight we’ve needed stillness for a very long time nine my eyes were scooped out of their sockets and cooked through like eggs in the microwave

 

My hair and skin are glowing like all I eat is fish and eggs and turmeric like my little dog when she was in heat or when she was in cycle and bleeding all over the house I wonder where that dog is or if she lives or who she’s stuck with if she’s eating salmon skins and eggshells and turmeric pills and spending her days grinding on the radiator and dreaming of long-dead grandmothers I’m jealous of people with dogs I’m jealous of people with grandmothers I’m jealous of people with deep inner stillness I spend all day pretending to be them I make a tea and pretend it soothes me I eat and eat and eat and pretend it fills me I cut bangs to see better I cut nails to hold myself I don’t know what I’m missing but I think it’s something big.