THE LIGHTBULB CONSPIRACY BY ALEXIS SIKORSKY
we were astronauts and
archaeologists and mechanics;
getting drunk off communion wine
in a theocratic country with no believers.
I was the blowhole in a whale and
the trash heap at sea
I was a groundbreaking invention
hidden under planned obsolescence
you were the vitamin C I took daily and the cold I caught anyway
you were a ferris wheel showing a child the world at the top
forks coming off of screaming rivers and
diving into sidewalks holding handprints that weren't ours
throwing rotten eggs into ditches because what else would we do with them and
what else was there to do?
I filled a cracked bucket with jell-o and left it on your porch because
I knew you'd know what I meant
you painted a face around the hole I punched through the wall because
you knew I'd send a picture to my mom
we recited mournful monologues on the bruises in our bananas
we played pianos with our toes
we pinched the sun between our fingers
we were lost. we weren't alone.
FLUX (POEM) BY ALEXIS SIKORSKI/ INSTERSTELLAR ROMANCE (ALBUM) BY SEAN BURNETTE
this is the day before.
I kicked a sock off while I was sleeping.
stood by the door,
and I did not leave the house.
it was the green shirt from yesterday
ing like this truck stopping traffic
in the dead of nowhere
when I expected to be going
there it is.
an expectation, rightly so--
but I can't help thinking if I blink
or I'll disappear.
employing cryptic coloration when
no one employs me.
but there it is.
so there I go.
so here I go.
this is the closest I'll get to no man's land,
and I'm proud to say I'm terribly impatient.
the song you'd play at 00:00
sunglasses and a scarf out the window but
you still have your breath
and a mission,
with the end of the world
and you're ready,
you're so ready
but now you don't know what to think.
I don't know what to think.
I don't know,
but maybe I'll
soon, I do.
if you do.
fucking threw off my plan, you did.
(as if I'd ever had one)
I'm acting like a stereotype.
if I'm the thinker,
I'd better get going now.
it's best to travel with strangers--
they're not strangers by the end.
but then give it one week post-
and you'll be strangers again.
I don't know how to work a pay phone
but I'm out of service
and so is my ride.
was hanging off the back of a bus.
am I supposed to be stability?
this land is at too much of a slant.
like, I'm rolling down this hill right now;
he said he'd meet me at the bottom.
but did he?
it was like when this kid said I couldn't climb,
so I went up the tree in his backyard
and bridged it over to the roof.
I sat up there all day until he
walked out with his sister.
I hit him in the head with at least
I rolled down then too,
but this time I didn't
break my arm.
I somewhat resemble juggled
nope, you're wrong.
I'm not good at staying
where am I even going?
I'm not getting any closer.
I don't know what you look like anymore.
maybe I should cut my hair.
it's where I carry my stress.
it wasn't long enough to donate.
my flip-flop broke
so I threw it out the car
window into a ditch.
you didn't know my name.
but for a week there,
I was really good at running.
shit's getting weird.
a rabbit ran between my legs.
maybe I should've downloaded that gps.
I'm holding my keys between my knuckles.
a plastic cutout of an explosive device
hangs from my palm
"I'm the bomb"
so the power's out,
but only on the right.
chill, it's just like that boathouse behind the meridian center--
keep your head down and your peripherals open,
and you'll be fine
even if you're alone
and a little lonely.
I found a hermit crab in a seashell.
it didn't pinch me.
this guy really has an agenda against trains.
like, a crazy-ex-boyfriend-bordering-on-
he makes really good mac & cheese out
of the back of his pickup though,
so it balances out.
there's a streetlamp over the hill--
nope, it was a neighborhood
watch guy with a flood-
I proved I wasn't a hooligan with
my high school transcript.
damn university wouldn't accept
an unofficial copy
and I'd never taken it out of my
I am underwater.
I am everything.
I have it all.
they almost got me to stay.
that's all I'll say.
you'd think a place called
paradise would have more
do not park your car
in Austin, Texas.
no matter what you do
a dreaming dog.
the way their legs kick;
the way I'm kicking myself rn.
bought a phony ticket.
face down on the airport tile.
two toothbrushes by the sink.
we can't seem to sink.
but then again, everything always does seem to fall apart.