bear market
i’m sick with apophenia;
localized shuffling, i sway back &
fortuity laces into my shoes
☾moonshot☽
ear magnets to the ground,
tinnitus rings its silent alarm–
we've been noticed.
rectitude comes in news feeds
or a buckled left hook to the jaw,
meteoric fist baited with worms
hopes for facile fish to scale.
survival shares a bed with surrender,
dreams are its architecture yet
i rest absent minded &
bloodletting–wolf fang
to drain the husk
an endemic hush:
we demand quiet before the howl.
words just phonics, humans
sequenced into nine digits
while bounty-bidders peddle rage.
it rises, unable to wholly disappear
from the world,
rinds of unlearning hard to digest.
leveling with disquiet means keeping
myself in check,
egocentric volcano
overdue on eruption.
loiter long–let them wait
make them watch
nebby, window-splitting neighbors
will mostly die alone,
routine lives spent watching sky
unabated for ash
turnsole
ekphrasis based on the art of annie stegg
have you ever
pictured yourself
as something else?
not someone-
an animal or
inanimate object,
maybe even a cloud?
if i told you
i know a place
where they paint portraits
of bears sipping from
bone china, scenes
of greenery where
immutable
meets animalistic,
what would you think?
my best friend
is a girl with rams horns
they are strong
as she is beautiful,
they curl as she tumbles
day to day,
simple, a box
of kraft macaroni
with a cup of tea.
she is the light
we are moths
drawn to her fire
the neighbor girl
rides a fox to school.
most days,
i am one child
nurturing a child
always cutting things
right off
the cuff & though i’m
not quite sure what
their name is
i babysit with fervor,
my wonder only matched
by its surprise
that love abounds
here, people are
the presence, kindred
signs of connectivity
in unexpected ways-
the tree frog is a lord
not a helpless prince
waiting to be kissed,
i buy bread from
a swan girl, her
neck innocently long,
andiron swivel
adorned with jewels
unable to grand jeté
over the life jetty & forced
to walk it like a plank;
here, i am heliotrope &
frankincense, turnsole
taken root.
disavowing amaranth
to perennially
face the sun; once
only surviving
on chilled dew
for sustenance
irony now grumbles;
all along i could’ve
photosynthesized my own.
there is no magnum opus,
days are cirrus delights
nights are spent
porch-bound sky gazing,
cuddling a pipe & my
three-headed cerberus pup;
one day she'll outgrow me
gaining wings
i'll never clip
but until then
moments will gather
like a borealis of
jellyfish swirling
around me
everywhere i go;
people remark
about the beauty
of someone
living so brazenly,
never touch
without asking
small gust (the butterfly effect)
eons before
neanderthal forged flame
butterflies
watercolored earth
in winged silence,
divorcing moths to
scale callow winds.
rise, warm ozonic kiln
blot nectar bioluminescent–
chaos theory
boundless wings
all along.
astronautilus (expansion)
*
what’s safer than a safe space?
the womb, a perfectly hung hammock
swaying between trees, a house
that is also a home, a breeze
following its pattern, times when
asking for help doesn’t require
contingency, plans spoken aloud &
feedback always constructive, truth
raw as ceviche, light splayed open
swings from
asymmetrical chandeliers.
hear the safety:
space overflows
in silence
**
small hands on shoulders,
a tug at my pant leg begs
for an answer i don’t
have right now so
lie, only to quell fear’s curiosity
because fear not
i’m a life concierge, joker nobility
knowing a whole goddamn lot
about mostly niche,
benign things
and for you
i will figure it out
admit that i lied
just to offer the truth
as selfish repentance,
one you always accept
***
free
fall
trust that a gaggle of
netted arms awaits my
big plop, egg drop race
to the top. i tried so hard
to keep the spoon level that
anxiety rendered me
shaky & off-kilter,
like cold nights spent
homeless in minnesota;
the balancing act
seems to fail each time
i attempt it as a performance,
no safety net of limbs
willing to break
that descension
****
is a poem ever finished?
words a tempest in a bottle
no genie to be found & the
bottle rubbed raw, any wish made
lost to something bigger
than everything
& more important.
we have three hearts: one false,
one for friends, one kept island
each pump pump pumping
over 2.5 billion times
an average lifespan
*****
letting the filter drop
to keep myself in check.
i sing loudly in the shower
write poems on the walls
close to the affirmations
in the mirror. poetry feels
good when it’s a bloodletting;
when a husk
begins preservation
drained of its toxins.
words spit like venom
we choose to reject,
regurgitate across the floor
because there’s no room left
on the walls and still i
slip in them whenever
i wake up for a 2 am piss.
******
what’s safer than a safe space?
a poem, eternally unfinished unfolded
reshaped origami, the softest
blanket you saran wrap around your
body, preferably heated, noting your
spot on the spectrum, at least vaguely,
the old leather pouch cradling your
favorite crystals, that is the only
safe space they’ve ever known-
& you are its creator
*******
with every rise, there is a fall,
with every poem,
a secret left without a footnote.
so create until you are empty,
rest, then begin again.
life's lined with pews
but you can choose to sit
or stand or kneel,
able to slide out the door unnoticed
if that’s the prerogative-
your attendance still counts.
spit or swallow
i shuffled through the dirt until i found tile
underground, ambiguity molds in layers of earth
slowly growing upward chasing an indifferent
blister that boils at the surface.
recess kids pick their faces becoming
cities of skin pulled like taffy drunk
off their whine until mother comes at four
to collect the saggy stacks of bones. i wonder
would we disfigure for a believable god,
one that was not forced like painless death
into the back of a stray dog?
they claim there was no hope but i saw eyes
flicker a new communication signaling
they had eight years left to displace hips
in stairwells, still it s l i p s into cold
leaves & it’s called solution, simple as creases
in bedsheets once embellished ignorantly in gold.
then i didn't know the press of a finger
into my temples,
too young to grasp that every gun
is phallic
when held to your mouth.
condensation dripped into
my bloodstream, no stone could abrade
me galled; i returned to fetal state with
intention to gather meaning behind
death of my grandfathers & why
sparrows choose to spit
instead of swallow providing
for their weak in hopes they’ll flourish
when life has taught me to chew
my own rope until there is
no connection left
*****
jp thorn is a queer, neurodivergent artist raised in & returned to the south. you’ll usually find them in a peaceful flow state of adhd hyperfocus or ping-ponging between cat parent & hobbyist. advocate for de-stigmatization & radically-open communication, their work is largely inspired by identity, reframing traditionalism, therapeutic processes, unlearning patriarchy, humanness, & global patterns. you can find more of their work at thorn.jp
