It is over.

When I am dead this time

Will be an object

And I

Will be an object

Too.

That’s okay.

Right now I am alive

And

I like it.

My boobies are soft.

There’s a vast

Coldness behind my waist.

The sky.

In my nipple is an eye.

I would do it.

I would do it like you.

I could have it.

I could have it like you.

I am in love.

But I only cry about it when I’m hungry.

When I die I’ll just be me again

And soft.

I look outside.

A city street.

I look at it. I am it.

I look outside.

I have to.

Because I

Like everything.

Dec 31, 2014

I have left prime sweetness

Between the tight teeth

Of some hurried days.

Let me now keep it.

Jeez, it’s the année’s

Final creeping night.

My name is A’isha

But has it

Kept its promise.

I lie on the bed.

I lie very still.

I cry.

Aquamarine and topaz

Cast as the eyes of

Sick and slow-moving cats.

I was high and I was lost.

I was slow and found

I was low and found.

Everywhere there are men, there are men

Loving other adults.

And everywhere

There are women

Same.

When we were alone in the night

The light

Of your small shop called me.

I bought bottled water

And a loofah.

And then dans la même square the next day

He said

No, I said

No, wait –

He said,

D’Afrique?

Des Caraïbes, I say, Mais

Oui. I point to the rhombus

That’s the back of my hand:

La même chose.

Who said that?

I don’t even know

If you said it or if

I said it.

You said it.

And then I said

Hamdulillah

And you said

Hamdulillah

Too.

I went

South.

I forget.

I remember: ok

The thing

Wasn’t that it was tight

And that I was breaking out of a case

And transiting forms

And that there was a cover that

Cracked

And the line

Was the tear of that

The rip in that was the line –

No.

The caterpillar actually dies

Becoming the whatever.

A line.

It is a fiction.

An idea

Of direction.

An index.

The line.

An idea I breathed

Automaton-ically

Across campus

And shook –

Wearing heeled boots to class

Who did I meet but

A rectangle of

International development gals.

The motherfucking line.

The blood

Runs from where it begins

Into the lake that’s

My left foot.

It feels like

Wind inside me.

When I leave here I don’t know where I am.

I read the map wrong and got lost.

So I was home.

When I was physically lost that was home so I am crying.

I’m not crying.

The reason I’m not crying is I don’t care.

I warmed some hash in butter and wiped a yellow square of cake into it deeply.

And I put it in the mini fridge and the next morning, the next

Afternoon –