No one ever tells you the truth about what you look like.
The body says what words cannot.
My schedule for today lists a six-hour self-accusatory depression.
Is there a hole for me to get sick in?
Kill me—por favor.Rachel Cusk, Transit (Picador, 2017)
Martha Graham, quoted in “Martha Graham Reflects on Her Art and a Life in Dance,” New York Times, 31 March 1985
Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (Del Rey, 1996; orig. Doubleday, 1968)
Bob Dylan, “Tombstone Blues,” Highway 61 Revisited (Columbia Records, 1965)
Ry Cooder, “Kill Me, Por Favor,” Los Angeles Stories (City Lights Books, 2011)
NOTE
Title: Helen Gurley Brown, Cosmopolitan magazine, June 1970
Callahan! Your listing of each line blew my mind.
Hope all is well!
This poem is a word dance
On both sides of
The door of death
Yet hawks still fly above
Sending secret coded messages
Sometimes in a cupcake