Morgan Eldridge



dripping from ceiling
condensation on the kettle as it steeps
hold hand against as it warms
plugged into wall
as easy as plugging into wall
it burns did not notice
love is not an emotion
have had reoccurring dream of walking
through a field of corn dried on stalks—
to an opening
friends in wooden bleachers
i walk to a circle of grass
in front of turn back against
the faces silent
scream throw arms to my side
up and down in violent way
a tantrum of sorts
body against ground make sounds rolling
in horrified withering way
lay belly against moist dirt
dig hole for head
with fingers face leaking into place—
and the bleacher of humans past and now rest watching—
this as sort of performance of the psyche
resistance to aging or those deemed close are watching at a distance
and i am at a holy distance—
that is my conditioned perception of strength
will care at a distance, feel safe—
will communicate at a distance
muddled clods of drying
feel the weight of performance
i am now you are silently watching
too much work and not enough time
a show choir sings as a pop song
with choreographed moves sweeping
sequined bow ties
at punk show in basement
of friends home
i see sequined bow ties
blink blink still there
pathologize the symptom of being socially awkward
or claiming selves to be
as not listening to internals avoiding direct dialogue
exhaustion combated by swimming
in the dissociated mass—
it only gets worse from here
do not look at your confusing body parts
i will confuse you
because you confuse you
external in conflict with internal
internal in conflict with a poor judgement
is not something to cling to
you do not define i
will work seven times seven
will spend time with people
will not talk about work
will have hard time talking
will say things do not truly mean
will not understand meaning
movements habitualized toward serving
accommodating my conditioned response
as woman, as worker
the coffee cup on table has a dried ring
inside marking the permeable membrane
from days before the evaporated murky brown
has sunk lower—today another level
but seen where once was
can name patterns in my past
feel angry from injustice in the world—
my internals will tell those around about anger and desire for change
will do it again, and again
because i am not ready or
i am still stuck in the cycling battle of naming something
or it is not my something and i do not understand
why fully my body responds to that person and not another
some are angry because such actions seem contradictory
my actions are contradictory
sometimes i feel anger at this inconsistency
not certain consistency can be achieved
will move at my own pace
can not rush into—
without negating steps before
be gentle with me I am you
love is not an emotion
we are trying our best
is a false claim
best is abstractly undefined
trying is an action always to fluctuate
when phone says snooze i read avoid
trying at best to be an awake and good human being
you are—