Lizzy Burnam 🐞

A demon dances
on the ash-gray wall
One eye a camera
One eye a small blue flame
Jazz Boy asks 
what's crackin’, lackin’? 
and I open my mouth to yawn
the sound of a school bus
in reverse
and the beeping pours
into a cereal bowl
Jazz Boy says, sometimes 
your heart speak languages 
your head don’t. That's 
hangover perfume, a spritz
of molten migraine
Bone-white pounding pin drop
Bone-white burning throat
A handful of silver 
in the safe, chilling out 
while dunes of dust
collect on dimes
My heart speak languages 
my head don’t 
and I’m restless like my body
is trying to get away 
from itself 
The rag-tag rhythm of the shower 
on sinking shoulders
Not the same as upstate rain
Not the same as sleeting salesmen 
and social workers peering backwards 
through the peephole
Tap tapping on the glass 
and shake shake shaking the bag 
I let Jazz Boy blow my candle out
I hand over the key to my turtle shell and 
anything else he wants
I tuck a pillow between my knees
and squeeze 
until my jaw hurts
(that’s a smile)
The demon calls and says, December 
He calls and crowns me human
He says, he says 
Sometimes your heart speak 
languages 
your head don’t 
Bruises shaped like dial tones
All the numbers 
trickle out my mouth like teeth
Another black dog 
chewed up through the elevator 
North-bound
South-bound
Boy, you knew better 
than to let me get that old 
Now I’m cooked ready 
like a spray tan
A postcard signed in bile
Love nix, nada, nil
The demon clicks 
He says, look
give your daddy a call 
Tell him I meant
diddly-squat