Underneath It All

you were in french class when I made
the call. robitussin and vodka, every
                                       new beginning comes from some other
                                       beginning’s end. sacrum to the ground,
gas x for the ibs. treating myself to some
garlic and heavy cream. he slips in and
                                       he slips out, my feet too big for these
                                       dancing shoes. every class is naptime and
by twenty, I stop writing to god. it’s not you,
it’s me. somewhere I learned how to chop dead wood.
                                       the thermostat is the only thing to be
                                       controlled, so I chug hairy bears and
bend over the public toilet, baring nothing
but my soul. blue chunks and bicycle tires,
                                       how many laps before you slam dunk your calves.
                                       I leap into limestone quarries, pray for an ocean
to appear. one test now five I think about
fucking him on that one train. seven hips take
                                       eight I suck franzia straight from the drain.
                                       and on the third day, I’ve risen again, his semen
still nailed to my inner thighs. that winter
the temperature plummeted thirty-two degrees
                                       straight to minus forty. I looked at her in history class
                                       and put on a checkered sweater. I walked across the stage
severed three square knots, and when it was all over,
I dipped my whole body into the hot springs.