INTERLUDE

in the presentation
on the aesthetics
of madness
all I want to keep
falls from my mind

wet threads pulled
from my temples
soaking into
the ground

the artist suggests
the possibility
of no longer taking
the medicine
required
to be alive

having only just begun
I allow this
to break the clock
I’ve built
on either side
of present tense

all the winter
a slow scab
acting strong
then bleeding out

Tyler said
to ask why
from the image
said notice when
it’s easier to imagine
than to feel

only when
it’s over
do I realize
I’ve spent all year
ready to die

it’s okay
to just be anything
blueberries
in August
the gun
in your hand
or (a world
where) not

all I write
are letters
for what won’t
actually happen

room full
of smooth bald heads
bobbing around

dreams
that can be returned to
like a place

keep becoming
the self
even with
nobody watching

bush sewn
with rose hips
pearls set
into a veil

I start to really lean
into trees
alone & with others

how people
who are new to town
don’t talk to me is
I’m finally
the good kind
of invisible

how you decided
not to need
a body anymore

instead of eating
the lost flower petal
I look up
if it’s poisonous

how tired I am
of talking to you here

I imagine a tea party
at the bottom of the ocean
everyone dead chanting
GET HEALED
pretend cups of tea raised
and not filling with sea

really dialing in solitude
like a hotline to call
when you want
to work on
dying well
instead of not
dying at all

what I have to say
is distinguishable
layers trying
to become
indistinguishable

a song that plays
a song that plays

the erotics of paying rent
& banking
on my shields
as a way for
NO RAPE
or any
varietal of harm
psychic or bodily

kestrel or an osprey
diving into water
when no fish comes out
I start to worry
until the thought becomes
don’t fix it

this isn’t about anything
wings flapping
keeping me in place
while I watch my friends
give birth
to babies
to books

I take tastes
of their names
find some new dust
to roll through

Bodie
Winnie
Tiny
Ruth
The Last
Unkillable Thing

all the mistakes I’ve made
forgetting
we are two

She loved every year
when the forsythia
came out is a sentence
I put in my head
for the future

first shot in my arm
river not high enough
cold water
my hands
recording a bridge

half-moon shows up
bowl of dead flowers

Billie
Garnett
Silver
Royal

Karena writes
let it unravel
into what’s inside
I thought
I already did

the future
a negation
to make
something
I believe

WE ARE BECAUSE
OF ALL OF US
a beer can says
ants inside my computer

tears fall from me
unemotionally
someone calls the poem
beautiful & I let it be over

almost always
I care more
about a creek
than a barn

antler shed
on the hillside

definitive willow crown
wrapped around my head
I walk home

the word
I can’t remember
is left brimming
on the table

a quick snake
across the center
of a trail

the good part
of the story is now
every morning
nothing comes out of me

I start an idea anyway
convince myself
it’s a chair
a chain to follow

deep breath
all the way
to pubic bone
back flat on the ground
arms spread like waiting
for my heart to beat out

red-tailed hawk
quince blossom
dead man
stuck between my ribs

some hurts still hurt
for a reason

decide really hard to live

CL Young is a writer, artist, and intuitive currently facilitating TUNING and individual work.