maybe not after all (unpolished)

25 October 2024

yes im writing the poem
yes I'm writing the poem yes im writing the fucking poem

you ever been in one of those walk in freezers with the plastic curtain long strips that cut against you when you push past you know how the cold goes physical? up close against you? right around your bare arms and neck and the tiny thin hairs on your face wrapped into you slid under your flesh into connective tissue.
you know it.
that first reeling density.

i know it.

in the freezer i could let everything slide out through my mouth and turn condensation heavy

i think i opened up my throat and packed ice into my gut.
grey the way of old meat inside.

no, this isn't the poem.
im still dribbling bodyhot spit off my tongue.
no: nevermind