sometimes i imagine myself as if
i am younger, gloved and smelling of chlorine
pulling a scalpel through my skull
and tearing it apart like fruit
to eat the membrane underneath
i wonder what i taste like. i think my brain
holds the stench of petroleum like a sponge.
poetry doesn't come easy to me
anymore. i am unaware of how to explain
the compulsions in my mind, the desperation
to burn. it comes in waves
like sound. the truth is i've loved fire since i was young,
toddler fingers reaching for blue flame and singed bangs
pressing the smell of burning into my skin. the truth is
i didn't need it
something changed on spanish soil, something
was stolen from me in
valencian sunlight - and now the smell
of burning is back. i am choking on ashes. i am
standing on someone's ashes right now. who's ashes am i standing on?
who's bones am i breaking? i snap my tendons
and strike a match.