NEEDLESKULL
| The modern panopticon’s gaze intrudes upon our most private possessions: dreams, transmogrified into nightmares by surveillance. A rage poem denoting resistance to and acceptance of the reality of governmental privacy-invasion. |
。0。 (BRAINSTEM // SHOCK-DENIAL) 。0。
Twenty-change long years alive, the grand old
Age of self-possessèd souls, of private
City Zen, serene yet roused by quiet
Rapping at my gray, galvanic threshold.
Countless bugs— do aphids swarm the rose-stem
Sapping life-propelling sacch’rin liquid,
Rich synthetic phloem-drawn food scraps, wicked,
Ejecting dreamers in their buds from REM?
No.
My lying eyes see ladybugs and midges
Seeking, slaking stigmas, all-intrusive,
Overeager, gnawing necks, abusive.
I fear perhaps I yearn to burn my bridges.
。0。 (CEREBELLUM // ANGER-BARGAINING) 。0。
Noxious, caustic, metastatic colonizers,
Make of me a feral hog, truffle-hunting,
Starving, ashen sepal underbrush, wanting
Feasts of callous, raw pretender supervisors.
Ripping out defiled nerves and neurons, wherein the coward
Parasitoid wasp has birthed her larval brood. In
Loathing I am pure. Putrid rot, necrotic kin,
Cerebellar growth— a fetching, flowing-forth hate has flowered.
Eternal, flailing tongues have flogged our fragile, branded forms,
Captured, lens and chain, then etherized, my gore left clotting by the limestone.
Define, Leviathan. Define your thirst past breath and blood, body and bone.
If my own thoughts are left untouched, my switch-torn skin is yours to keep, O dust, O worms.
。0。 (CEREBRUM // DEPRESSION-TESTING) 。0。
The garden weeds have taken root in me,
Sprouting thin and thirsty, sucking salt, discarded
Projects in a lick, my tongue is charred, my mind is charted.
You bathe in dirt beneath the knowledge-bearing pomegranate tree.
America the dreamless, locust, tumor, baku come to feed,
Banging at my door— my door is locked, my door is salted.
I cling tight to every thought of mine you’ve faulted;
When splinters fly, you’ll lie that I’ve been freed.
When lab rats dream, the cage
(I’M SAFE IN HERE I’M SAFE IN HERE)
Remains. Their cell is all around.
(MY HOPES ARE MINE MY PRAYERS ARE MINE)
In dreams they’re chained to rage;
(I HOLD THEM CLOSE I HOLD THEM DEAR)
Dear God, to nightmares they are bound.
(MY BRAIN IS MINE MY THOUGHTS MY MIND)
。0。 (LAZARUS SIGN // ACCEPTANCE) 。0。
I’ll walk to the mossy-green lake with you (Eloi Eloi) and gaze at our glossy reflection
Our milky-white cataract eyes above (Eloi Eloi) what’s left of our smoky-gray teeth, the
Last remnants of failed fumigation, and (lama lama) addiction to azure-stained slides, full
With boundless amoebas, bacteria, (sabachthani) all patriots under the microscope.
I’ll set out the vinegar traps like you asked. I’ll wash the dishes you left on my bedside table by the ballpoint with which I draw up my escape plans, manifestos I shred and burn daily. Each morning you rummage through my filing cabinet and cover my flat in far-flung papers. I wait until you leave and clean them up. I tidy my ivory-walled apartment often now; I’ve gotten used to guests. I’m draped across my bedbug-ridden mattress holding the telephone receiver to my ear, handset cord wrapped around my body like a too-proud boa constrictor. I’m calling again to ask if I look pretty when I’m in opisthotonus. The phone’s not plugged in— you tore the coax cable out ages ago. Later tonight, tangled together in sweaty limbs and filthy sheets, I’ll ask one more time and you won’t answer. I won’t mind. Every day I sweep up woodchips. ■
Our milky-white cataract eyes above (Eloi Eloi) what’s left of our smoky-gray teeth, the
Last remnants of failed fumigation, and (lama lama) addiction to azure-stained slides, full
With boundless amoebas, bacteria, (sabachthani) all patriots under the microscope.
I’ll set out the vinegar traps like you asked. I’ll wash the dishes you left on my bedside table by the ballpoint with which I draw up my escape plans, manifestos I shred and burn daily. Each morning you rummage through my filing cabinet and cover my flat in far-flung papers. I wait until you leave and clean them up. I tidy my ivory-walled apartment often now; I’ve gotten used to guests. I’m draped across my bedbug-ridden mattress holding the telephone receiver to my ear, handset cord wrapped around my body like a too-proud boa constrictor. I’m calling again to ask if I look pretty when I’m in opisthotonus. The phone’s not plugged in— you tore the coax cable out ages ago. Later tonight, tangled together in sweaty limbs and filthy sheets, I’ll ask one more time and you won’t answer. I won’t mind. Every day I sweep up woodchips. ■
Layout: Kai-Lin Wei
Creative Director: Sonia Siddiqui
Photographer: Tyson Humbert
HMUA: Reagan Richard
Stylists: Julia Garrett & Prince Fofanah
Models: Sonia Siddiqui & Tiffany Sun
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