THREE PSYCHICS ALL SEE JOAN OF ARC WINKING AT ME
Jessi Faircloth
Joan of Arc
for what do i owe this violation?
for what price do i sign my soul for a gas mask?
i become and i remain permeated by these neurotoxins-
transmitter transmitting toxic molecules,
moving the mountains in my mind.
Joan of Arc
i am uninterested in the ill fated apple,
6-6-6-have a heart- have an apple-
i have started refusing all forms of sustenance.
Joan of Arc
these secrets are ticking
a timeline which i am everything and NOthing of.
Joan of Arc
the tv speaks in channels i swear i hear the devil in.
if i concentrate hard enough the reality bends for a moment,
only to fill my head with warning signs-
echoing creaks` simple truths that
agents are in my attic
setting up shop in silhouettes of my mother’s nude body.
Joan of Arc
my father is a
good
man
how could he know which side
the flies are spared and the butterflies freed?
Joan of Arc
can you make my nose grow in size-
my eyes and hair darken-
jew me into my mothers
Joan of Arc
sing me to sleep in tongues of our mothers.
i will make calm in the quaking- i fake a smile-
i do not let them see these dusty bones,
these rusted crevices i call my home:
shambles and shambles only to resemble fragments of
these here mothers
Joan of Arc
they found amphetamines in my blood.
Joan of Arc
the CAT scan
can’t it see that my bones have grown creaking
carrying capacity calcified
can’t
Can’t
can’t
Joan of Arc
circle me in my proposed date of a deadline-
an ending.
my sweet mother you have outlived me and you didn’t deserve any of this-
Joan of Arc
i will see you next lifetime
but in this one i am only a skeleton of my elders
a hollow frame withstanding hurricanes
i am splayed on my side
both floating and drowning
brittle i break, a never ending rhythm of the cease to continue a cease fire the cross fire
Joan of Arc
our mothers’ mothers may have been martyrs
but as the sun's rays beam brilliant
i have escaped death,
i beg of you to close this door in which the
veil between the worlds grows thin
and a martyr i am no more
FLYING / FLOATING / CRASHING / FALLING
the paradox of flying is the part where
reattachment of head to body is not falling but crashing
if i could tell you where i go
you could find me under the brush
the thorns,
they are stuck to my flesh and i feel nothing
you could tell me my blood still pumps,
that i have a bleeding heart
but i have flown
into the ethers into the fragmented seascape that turns my mind into tidal waves
evacuate
i remind you to leave
blue lights will swallow me eventually and you don't want to be here when they do
i remind you of the never ending cycle of me to me
tumbling: a penny in a clothes dryer
clink
try to find me, i dare you
i am nowhere and everywhere to be located
the map is echolocation of mother to child
my baby is burning
if you put ten pound bags on my ankles i am still lost- overpowered by helium i am floating
not flying
