laying in a bed of forget-me-nots and wild garlic
all Ophelia all bone and froth, you know, the way they paint girls
I saw a dolphin arc over the moon, that great voluptuous croak
(I kid you not)
and then I looked around and
I was laying on the moon, and it was
an origami of sugar paper, the kind you use in school to make posters
each molar a factoid about dental hygiene okay okay
I admit, I had gone a bit owl-and-the-pussycat, all hey-diddle-diddle
the way the moon makes my cells all dust-like the skin of centuries frosting the tomb of Tutankhamun or a pebble scattered in the sand of other used-to-be-pebbles, used-to-be-boulders
I skimmed the moon like a pebble
the sky’s mackerel scales rippled to flesh, sweltered, weltered, melted away like fat
I think the moon might be a bit drunk, you know, trainwreck sequin, not all there,
the crests of the waves rush to prop her up, her squad, her handmaids
look at the hell she has put me through, holding the broken glass of world-light up to my throat, threatening as a blank page glowing its lack of words that antiquated harlot
I met the moon in a nightclub bathroom
we swore a blood oath to share our magics or our lipstick, I forget which
(or maybe it was both)
how I howled as I watched her get gulped down the drain swallowed up by a puddle and sprayed, scattered, decimated by a sports car she left me
alone, in the dark, in the harsh scouring light of day a pale scar against the vast blue,
alone
just girl, just moon-bathed and animal
just Alice, starry for her albino rabbit hole, little bit lost like we are all lost
when we look up at the moon