In an alternate version of today,
I corner each whim w/ a lullaby

Hush—there’s nothing interesting
about a resistible urge

Instead, a card left face up
so its forces leak, lap the hours

We indecisive are most receptive
to rituals, for want of what

more to do when
waiting for what’s next

Boldened by last night’s harvest-
bright glow, I flung sage ash

onto the stoop & said Shitty energies
be gone in a touch too-civil tone

Continued in today’s itinerary of walking
to forget motion’s the only goal

A want to not believe in goals
disconcertingly a goal itself

♢ ♢ ♢

Botch divinity yr own way:
it’s the freestyle round of sentience

Pick an amulet like evil eye, opal, or
more pink pills bisected into crescents

then tilt skyward for cloudy viscera
of a crystal ball & attempt prognosis

or else stumble on

♢ ♢ ♢

To relinquish logic is to let sense
& reflex swerve

Trip over a cobblestone loose
since always, even though I know

better & still do when sliding
uncovered into the hottest patch of sun

just to make those fading teeth-marks
gleam a red bloom
          for sheer love of mementos

Scan ledes & the weekly horoscopes
of still-relevant loves while mine advises

spiritually adopt hedonism: a clear signal
to lose the plan altogether

& claw harder into what
I want to take along

Let the hungry ghost gorge
Try & keep it down this time

—–

Alina Pleskova lives in Philly & strives to maintain optimum chill. She is coeditor of bedfellows, a literary magazine focused on sex/desire/intimacy, & cohost of Poetry Jawns, a podcast. Recent work can be found in Queen Mob’s Tea House, Public Pool, Sea Foam Mag, and littletell. Twitter / Tumblr