Liturgy for a Particular Anxiety

December 21, 2018

A cure? You prefer

hastily drafted feelings,

a glass of artificial progress

under the caricature

of an attractive artist

with tremors. You fake

thirst, pointing at solvents,

find your soul by clicking

marbles against the window.

Melancholy is our concern

if peers recognize burning

disturbances such as chants

yielding regret, committing

herbicide in cold sweat,

complaining at the graves

of women who gave their lives

over to haunting. Adjust

your dosage. Your disorder

is beginning to yield

homogenous results. Forget

sitting in silence. Imagine

wings on the person you

avoid the most. Live

in a box small enough

so trauma doesn’t wake up

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