I Eat People Then I Suffocate,

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HANNA RUBIN

 
 

said the mother to an empty room.

 

If all air is meant for breathing then surely one would believe in creation.

 

Sixteen seconds marks thirty-five wishes.

 

The father is silent in his snow globe, he is wearing a mask that says I am happy to be here.

 

An infinitesimal amount of jubilation requests your presence, if only you could receive the invitation.

 

Did I say receive? I meant to say read.

 

I wrote you a letter and then scarfed bowls and bowls of pudding. I really tried to keep it down.

 

You, I mean.

 

This morning I drew a big curve and wrote cavern.

 

Then I drew a mess of gunk and wrote mother.

 

I took the gunk and I put it in the curve and with that foreplay I made body.

 

I mean, my body.

 

I don't know why I'm possessing these actions when merely I am a recipient.

 

Of you and mess and body.

 

There is no reason to extend an invitation into a life of Being and yet I keep my palms face forward, kneeling to your fall.

 

Human relations in this stage of economic development have no choice but to be sewage.

 

We cloy together in the unbreathability of common Presence.

 

This I present to you and I don't mean to riddle.

 

How to speak plainly when the language is its own source of addiction.

 

I'm addled by billboards and storefronts in the same way I'm locked in your step.

 

The water cycles flow both ways never actually making a complete circle.

 

Our pattern is different: connectivity simpers drug and it goes something like push, push, pull.

 

Pinch, pinch, orgasm.

 

Relief release recoil rehit.

 

My sister-in-law holds dominance on any reality that circles her orbit.

 

Her child will grow up to be a sentence I can't quite finish, despite how good science is at guessing.

 

The baby lets me put her on my chest and we lie back on the couch, floored by all the ways we are different but receiving the same looks.

 

Sometimes your cat will sit on my stomach and other times she plays with yarn, flies, six of her imaginary friends.

 

I wish I could sink my teeth into someone like a dog and work in mutual shake.

 

I wish spirit was as simple as refusing resistance.

 

I wish Love was something more than fantasy and better than.

 

I wish I believed that palm trees meant safe, meant you have arrived.

 

Didn't mean uprooted and thriftless gulch.

 

In a past life you were an old lady, said a reiki practitioner who held my skull and told me she saw six fish.

 

In a past car I was going too fast and missed all the small opportunities to draw.

 

Maybe then I was your mother and you were my child and we learned together how to live in something like bliss.