mayday melee cosplay all day

going west and the going rate is going into a crater under the pools on the moon/conditional travel plans but air traffic lost sight of my boat in the water with their heads in the clouds/done with dead reckoning/deal me in, fate/throw my direction and my steering to the emptier sky/i am long for the abyss-long in the tooth/a long way from a destination/a wave, a plan-a man, arkansas/i've ruined the palindrome again/i couldn't help myself-seriously, it couldn't be helped/wouldn't be/from where we all well up and let the tears and the screams forth/rejoin the procession of grief/from there, find my way back/back again

The 100 Hour Flood

After the rain, I tip myself over and let the excess water I’ve accumulated out. I do it in my backyard, in the small, gated corner where the grass has grown unabated, next to the trash cans.

I crouch and twist my head, let the water leek out of my ear in a flush-stagnant, ripe with mosquitos and hangers on. 

I tilt my trunk and bend in a complicated yoga routine:

Cobra

Downward Dog

Warrior 1 or 2?

Tree Pose, but while tree is sawed in two

I let the lukewarm water, tinged with old scraps and flavored with the remnants of earwax, drain from me. Small pieces of eggshell and coffee grinds scratch and pull at my inner ear. They are begging to stay.

I contort myself again, letting the flow of water shrink to an uneven drip. On all fours, I shake my head-an agitated dog trying to release the last drops.

The yard in front of me is soaked through. It’s lined with the junk and earstuffs that have plagued me. The mosquitoes, now good and angry, patrol this new world, looking for a still puddle or sweet, new blood-Maybe both. I take a deep breath to center myself, drink in the odor of the foul soup at my feet. Fighting the urge to gag, I step away and close the gate, clinking the locking hinge shut to lock in what I have cast from myself.

Now the day can begin