Angel Number 777

I asked you to fuck me from behind & self-actualizing there

was a generative friction, but I haven’t written. High noon is hardest

overeating in the sitcom’s glare. There you go again, refusing your life

because words are too local. This species of time getting off on pleasure

like when the moon is full but you forget to look. Then erupt the stars

all over the water. We drink to wreak havoc on feeling. Dependent on fantasy

& nostalgic for a mindset we could no longer access. Unlearning the notions that healed us.

Home from the skate park, Laura makes cafecito like her abuela. I’m a little stoned

& I want to crawl inside the way her hands work. My breath commences

when I see M back from the dead, clowning around across the yard.

The architecture of my desire gives me whiplash each time it inflates.

Was it you that called him back when his jaw fell open, asking death to crawl in?

The punks in the pit coach in the ten directions of the neck. Sometimes we talk shit

like you’re still here, because you are. Everyone misses you. They send their love.

On the A train, I heard a girl say that sometimes you just pick a side

& argue it, whether you believe it or not.The phlebotomist ties me off

excavates a flow & there is nothing particularly poetic about any of it.

I fall into sleep where certainties are inverted in planes of smeared sound.

My kitten winks from the window as the sun spanks us into service.

Released from law, I grew as sapient as a star thrashing along God’s Gaussian Curve.

The dearth in me is light as I drive into the spangled afternoon.

Sensationalist

Traffic on I-35

loosens & my love

grows long

Only wonder

stands the gravity

of the vow

Learn to give

reverent blowjob

in time of ecocide

Immaterial sap

in the debased base-

ment of my desire

Slammed against

the limits of gender

& cheap weed I’m so buff

Trimming down there

with kid Fiskars

over the bathroom trash

Baby fat rolls in

my neon bikini.

We learn to ride

the high inside.

Each day a threat

to the general

as tradition begs

to be fucked anew

I size down

on goth ennui

& I know shyness

might devour me

Convictions passed

through the whisper system

I am season’s pet

Cooking up

a sun headache

on the nude beach

I whittle my little life

into use. That’s how

this whole thing works

Sensation clatters

the bones into posture

& the binaries glister

with complexity.

My heart a crystal

a turning exuberance

When Light Buckles

I turn the crystal of smoky quartz / in the rotisserie of my palm / as if heat could bypass / the fleshy bounds of my integument / & harness the intelligence of the lattice within / when gravity collaborates with chance / to explode the grain beyond the grid / & across the hardwood floor my celestial orientation fibrillates / to the gesticulations of the palms outside / a prophecy through emergency music / although its symmetries are compromised / the debris of its pattern radiates wholeness / you’re flushed / thrumming with nerves / but you are already so perfectly entwined in the assembly of each earthly moment / at the yoga studio / a laboratory of movement the discoveries are not tangible but cognitive / a genius of a situation / to dilate the aircape outside I come to the beveled edge of the window / sipping synthetic matcha / as the dawn ekes into place my mind a regular map / that fizzes as it knows / ferments feeling into fact / & organizes life-force through beauty / as the experiments of God multiply / & ornament each day

Hot Red Velvet

I want to eat the ass of our reunion

because my genius was not inclined towards labor

Disappear the self, rainbow the plate

That’s the way uh huh, uh huh I like it

I knew what he stood for & what I thought he stood for

& because I didn’t know if I stood for anything

In the slack mental condition to which

the hot current of presence adheres

I turned my body into that ancestral instrument of

you-know-what. The Egyptian geese travel in pairs

Their gaze unabashed as if they know

we’re walking back to your house to fuck.

Desire sets the will alight, or into derangement

I watch an iguana eat bundt cake off the patio

Like just another thing to do. This life a celebration

of entanglement, the kinetic volley of attentions.

We catapult ourselves around small corners of the world

as wave begets wave & the valleys click open

Beneath the ampitheater of cloudwork. Things are

as they are drawn. Fate is time, the disintegration of the body

As it unfurls. I relinquish the hounds of productivity

Like when your roommate took a solo camping trip to Moab

& fucked an influencer off an app in the canyons

& each day ate dinner an hour earlier.

Ecotrauma at Claire’s

Today the agora of the mall

percolates a voltage

only product could satisfy.

Erotic elation peering into Build-A-Bear

& the display cases of the Great American Cookie.

The palor of the slack-jawed lunchers

their wet, dynamic mouths

in the light off Panda Express.

I clutched your hand in Abercrombie

scrambled through a mass of girls

to buy a healing solution from Claire’s

for the ears I pierced in my bedroom, since infected.

The anxiety of adornment so palpable inside the megastructure

as the brands achieve the overlap of self & fantasy.

I kiss you in the car, show you an ad for a lamp

that mimes the moment the sun sets.

Yesterday you were bedridden by a virus that stole our year.

A sheen of cold sweat as the vaccine instructed your body

to replicate the proteins on the virus’s surface layer.

How lucky I am to be the witness of that transaction

offering blue Gatorade like a waterboy.

I smoke all the keef & watch an incestuous Lena Dunham.

I know that even birds grieve & JC Penney’s is bankrupt

& the earth is shirking us off like the runt chimps we are.

The ills of society bear down in the terrific swell

of Madison Beer & yet I am so satisfied racing you

across the gravel lot of a nowhere McDonald’s

when you give me a look like that.

Charlotte Foreman is a writer, creative, and yoga teacher in the drained swampland of South Florida. She peddles tacos at a semi-authentic Mexican restaurant for money. Her work has been featured by FENCE Digital, Yew! Magazine, Laid Off NYC, and Jai Alai Books.