My Dearest Vishnu, Shiva & Shakti, Greatest Prakriti, Closest Amma,
You ask me for whatnot like it is real & I do not love real. You have stairs & I do not have stairs. Your stairs are my single hallway a jouissance of a word foreign to that curl in your hair & whiskers in his jowl. I do not want jowls. I ask you for medicine & you give me medicine. I take your medicine & wake empty of water & stuffed with sour popsicles. All I want is more blue in my home: will you ever like my blue-ish hands? I tell you about my hands & you throw magnets at me that spell "a-n-d" in lower-case & then "A-N-D" in uppercase & it is the best present yet. Your magnets are my paperweights & sometimes your lungs are my lungs. & vice versa. & vice versa. I tell you about my new doctors & you tell me about the uselessness of legs. It makes me want to dump red paint down your white stairs & watch it turn all colors & when it does I fear the moment it turns to light & everything white. I am a prism of light & you are not. I ask you for a correspondence of healing & you correspond with something else. I ask you: dump a bucket of whatnot and what happens? Your magnets sit & I carry them back. If I re-gift them to you I know you will never like
"d-n-a" & "D-N-A" & what in your house smells like copper? When can I tell you I am healed? When will you like me? Your ankles are my wrists & I walk on them daily,
—R
My Dearest Vishnu, Shiva & Shakti, Greatest Prakriti, Closest Amma,
What else can I say? Your rings are my gold & all I want is silver. I want to be & be & be & be & be & be & be. You will never let me be. I want you in my veins to be iron I want you but you are mercury in my brain. You funnel & funnel & funnel. I want clarity & you bring me fog. Your house is the color of fog. I open a present & out rolls the fog. My apartment is wood & dry & clear like sun in some stupid dessert. Then I walk outside & find you waiting. You roll in with the morning & you are gone by noon. I want your noons but you give me morning & night. I sent the magnets back & you did not tell me if you received them. I wanted to give you some piece of this sun but when I put it in a box it burnt everything. It ate my apartment & now I want your house. I want your stairs. I want your carpet & stairs & I will paint them one color. They will not become white. I will tell you I am a healed and you will evaporate. When will you come to me? When will you travel the rails? Your feet are my shins & it is just awkward. I have your thighs. They are safer on me & sometimes I hear them whisper how they miss you but they never admit it when I ask. When you run I do not. & vice versa. & vice versa. Will you ever like my waxed-in ears? I cannot hear your answer. I tell you about my ears & you throw magnets at me that spell “d-n-a” in lower-case & then
“D-N-A” in uppercase & it is the worst present yet. Handfuls of needles. You ask me for animot on the sidewalk & I give you animeaux a word similar to your gait. It is not the same. Nothing is the same. I keep waiting on your medicines & you keep sending me notes. Note: animot & you cringe & you tell me: when will you shut that thing? Your blues are pills that fill me with water until I sink. You say you always give me the day. It is noon. I wonder: has the day been here? Is it invisible? Your hair is on my knuckles & I cannot shave it off & it reminds me that I will never be healed. I do not want your fog & I wait for the night I will bleed red. I see clear all I see is clear. What do you mean?
—R
