Anhvu Buchanan

IV.

how many films were made from broken recipes/it’s time to cook the cake mix with the broccoli/there is a safety in mismatched clothing that else no one knows/i’ve collected all the spare scraps from the local museum/follow the ribbons as far as the morning can go/why must the insects persecute me/i want to eat ice water the way angels do/if i can read a magazine to the air is there anyone there to hear it crash/there’s no better time like robot time/what does it mean to look through a telescope/i have turned my mother parts inside out/why call it shambles when i can call it treasure/i have fallen and there is no piano to pick me up

Walking Orders from the Briefly Psychotic

snatch the president’s purse stay mute but mumble in spanish and english and hungarian feel the left pain on the side of your cheek eat all the plastic flowers from the dresser follow your daughter’s voice throw tea bags at the radio unzip the pillow cases to toss in your old teeth smell the news from the television take a bath in breast milk or lemonade solve the funeral to keep the mystery alive bite out pages of the nearest book grab at the gold chains in the pharmacy fear the ultrasound beam aimed right at your throat look at the passenger side mirror for your forgotten cousin search for the tapped phone lines in the refrigerator window swim to the closet earthquake or police station wrestle with a witch in a guinea pig cage receive scriptures from jupiter grip the meekest arm next to you and go find the healer with the index finger made from light

How Dreams Acquire Their Eyes

My head gives way to the yawning. The muscles in my body have departed for the winter. I have stored stories in my stomach. While I rest the ground translates my dreams into familiar eyes. Every closed wink leads to another trap door to another familiar smell. This slumber drags our wishes across freckled thoughts and rusty nails. I am flooding out each breath. I am blessing the bed. I am trying to recover our eyes.

Foggy

parked by the side of the road.
the car lights up the woods like a lantern. ¹

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¹ stumbling into furniture means I have lost control. I peak back into myself and it happens again like this: my head bobbing uncontrollably up and down. a warm sensation on the top of my head. like the yolk from a cracked egg dripping down my forehead, burning. several hours away from my body. I am a separated dream. I am foggy thoughts building up in the backseat. but I have taken precautions. I have found the safest way to live. the only way to wander is to wander alone.