THE MONTHLY BLEED VOL. 9

Brain dead. What should I write???

Atlas of head sections : fifty-three engraved copperplates of frozen sections of the head and fifty-three key plates with descriptive texts / by William Macewen.

O words, where art thou when I need thee?
Words hath littered my floor, companion to cat hair, dirt, and dust. 
Mind lost. Day 30. Wilderness littered with noise. Satan mocks me, where is thy God? 

What to write, what to write. A stack of paper fans over a mountain 
of books on my desk. Merricat, death cap, prayer book side by side. 
Calling out to God, sitting on a pile of dry bones. 

Prayers this morning obscured 
by ambition I’ve hidden in my stomach. 
Now my eyes hurt. Blue light streams off the plasma screen. 

There are four screens in my bedroom. Perfect for rectangular breathing. 
Protocol for anxiety. Inhaling, I picture trees in the fog. 
Exhaling I picture murder of crows

In a field of plenty long ago. Outside the window
rain soaks the deck board and I notice hair slicked 
on the surface, tangled like the synapses

in my brain cliched with metaphors of God.
The moon thumbtacked on the flannel board 
with the same old same old stars.

On Sunday I had to teach that sometimes bad people win. 
The story of John the Baptist, being beheaded. I don’t know why, 
but Salome with the Head of John the Baptist by Caravagio 
is one of my favorite paintings. 

Something about the shut eyes, the sorrow 
I can relate to right now.

Long ago, my head was already offered on a platter 
in exchange for more information
than I know what to do with.

My left leg is longer than my right leg, I notice it when I hug my knees
to my chest. Or when I do the boat pose. How unstable I really am
like my mother 

when she would weave in and out of my life like a drunk driver. 
I bite my tongue in the dark as a passenger wondering when 
the collision would happen

when air bags bloom like fungi 

I stare at my phone, waiting for a notification from God.
Too many people praying at the same time
weakens the signal.
Here, in desperation, I pray:

Repent me, O thou Great Jehovah
For under thy shadow, I’ve been fault finding
Again. Satan covers my mouth in waiting.
My only desire is plastic manna.

Repent me, and show me thy shekinah
Glory. For my head and heart is tunnelling
Toward destruction. My constant sinning 
Is silencing all my hallelujahs.

O Jehovah-Nissi, remove these sins from me
As far as the eyes can see. Help me, Lord,
Cast my temptations into the sea.

Lest my enemies rise up and swallow me.
Jehovah, please keep thine every word
To me. O Lord, for my only hope is thee.

Is this good enough God? Now that I am fancy can thou hear me?

I read this to a church lady over tea. Child number 4
calls me out, saying it’s ok if you have a smoke mom,
just let me play.

It didn’t sound as good as it was on paper. Dang revoke my poet license please.

At this rate, I have to watch 
horror movies to calm my nerves.

The girl in the movie is like me. Her mother dies and comes back
through a hand. I flinch before every jump scare
like the woodpecker in the fog

I saw the other day. 
It flew away in my presence.

Because I am the ghost, 
unwelcome.

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