On drinking and reincarnation
“If not by faith, then by sword - I’m going to be restored”
I could’ve said, in so many words, you seem drunk.
Instead I held my thumb to the vein on your forehead.
Instead I let you examine my wrists.
Instead I asked if you could look me in the eye.
Instead I listened to your sister love you through the phone line.
Instead I told you to go, slowly. Curious (darkly?) as to what the particular shape of your wound might be. I could see its density, speed. Sucking you into yourself and clarifying the nature of my orbit. Quiet, sure desperation.
For 2 nights since I’ve had a drink each, grapefruit + tequila, cinnamon + whiskey. I wanted them earnestly and tasted them well. Asked myself why we poison ourselves in a fell swallow.
Uncertainty has no place in this house. I coat my tongue with the grit of a sugar cube and realize i have never felt so certain. I have always had something to say, but now i will say it. There is no alternative, no version where I do not do. I make things from nothing. I don’t need to be right, I must be done.
I am smiling with my longest hair, believing in reincarnation because my blood vessels tell me I have already lived it