I am listening to walls by Megan Finkel

bacon smell

comes into the

room spells

nostalgia all for me

i hoard the grease

for fat

and

pleasures

the exact opposite

of being told what

to do with a body

should’ve been

a burial we leave

it to the ground

almost like no one can

touch me but me

a crockpot of spindle

limbs her narcissism

my pharmakon

every flower i touch

i ask it, are you even fucking

real?

everything between

cause and effect

takes place in a

waiting room in

a hospital uptown

i’ve been there taking

pictures with the

sun going down to

document a truly

awful time

times

i’ll never claim for

myself playing my

soundtrack 2 life

she asks me how the

trains manage to never

crash, do they learn

from experience like we

do?

we never learned

i can’t speak for the

trains

the brim of earth

is a freeway going in

both directions ending

at the same bordered

blue velvet if anyone

had a guardian angel these

days i’m sure she would

sound like the alarm that

wakes me up

i don’t hear her

so i don’t wake up

too close to someone you

don’t know

a blast

of sound

and the dead star living with us

buried in us i paint myself in makeup

and cry about poor grades whilst

my god is becoming lucid in her cave

not in-style to take the

world seriously no one

on my street isn’t laughing

talk about weekend plans and

response under hypnosis a few drinks

and several late hours the

sky is laughing with us

i swear

and no one isn’t young and hollow

being struck like a bell

that’s just what a bell does

be struck

still

opened wide

i fall into myself like a stolen butterfly

folded into a book, i listen for what god

calls out to me when

i sleep

a heavenly creature

---

Megan Finkel (she/her) is a poet from Houston and student of comparative literature and Russian at NYU. She and her writing may be found occasionally on twitter @megfinkel.