IT’S JUST NO GOOD
You are making a diamond with your legs,
you are making a portal.
You have a lot of anxiety about the weather.
Each and every foot is complicated,
though you are skeptical of motherfuckers
on Sunday. You have very discursive hands,
you are told, and they dry the dishes
in a really inefficient way. You wish you
could feel things about other people
but you can’t. You need gentle exfoliation.
You need 100% machine washable. You need
flammable warning. You need side effects
of the bloodstream. You continue to hide
your skins for all your moving.
A heat is rising from you,
a bubbling. Resist.
Your main concern is with
the stone, the thigh,
a place to fit the teeth, and
general safety measures. The difficulty
of the sonic wave is what is killing you.
What is your question? What is
your each and every?
SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO DIE
You have suddenly become aware
of all the raw foods you ate today.
You ate them out of containers,
ate them as if they were all of them bloody.
You are always eating raw things
and then pushing your chakras to the floor.
You are always pushing your chakras
to the floor, fingers white, heart above head
above heart above duodenum, above the newest
hair, the newest lung, air moving
from lung to other lung
to newness to lungness.
You are a burial ground.
You are a grave crunching
under the sun, under skin, under wild
lettuces wilting at your feet. You are
the matter of your knees, which are
an integral part of your interface with the earth,
as is your digestive tract, your bedsheets,
your breasts, which at this moment
sit flatly upon your belly as if to say
that you feel better being over there
with the white bubbles of your flesh,
the bubbles of your sensation.
That heart beat is the cold form
of preservation. That heart beat
is the size of a child. That heart beats
like the long slow wait
of the body coming home.
Krystin Gollihue is a poet and teacher living in Raleigh, North Carolina. She received her MFA from University of Alabama, where she was the Design Editor for Black Warrior Review, and is currently pursuing a doctorate in Digital Media from NC State University. She has poems published in Quarterly West, Blunderbuss Magazine, Ampersand Review, The Carolina Quarterly, Thank You For Swallowing, and others. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter @phenomenoem.