Gigi Pearl

I’m moving. 

I’ve found a little place in the Past, 

It’s not much but I think it’s quite lovely, very dear, 

And things aren’t working out Here, 

So I’m settling for memories. 

the more of me i see, the less of me i want to be. i feel empty and dreaded and dead inside;

i’m a horn atop a pig’s head;

i still remember dogwood, sitting under my porch;

There was a collapsed star.

There was light at the very end of a cave.

There was lightning that struck a tree.

There was a baby born

With a slightly bigger skull, one day.

The humans are out there taking their bows in the light where the world can see.

We are piled up, 

cold and immobile on the floor as the green room light fills 

tell me I cannot drink the air; 

yet the smoke on the horizon curls like a finger, 

inviting me to taste February in the wind 

and know time is running out 

and here i thought we were all going to die someday;

incorrect;

our corpses (sacks of what used to be our livelihood, exhales of what used to be our lives) will