Finally I discovered the truth about the city I moved to which is that “the sky is very pale here,” and now I feel very sexual with interior color. That’s a real state of mind I canNOT describe although it comes close to extreme frustration i.e. when your hair is too short to braid and slash or The Hots, i.e. arousal, i.e. a teacup overflowing onto the soft doily of yr girlhood. Maybe it’s worth mentioning that at night I think about his voice and hands and in the morning in school I think about his tongue and body. Perhaps additionally I can finally tell the truth about how much Max from An Extremely Goofy Movie turned me on when I was a young girl. He probably would give a shit about my art. None of these boys (gesture towards the window, curtain blowing) give a shit about my art it’s honestly in-cred-i-ble if I knew someone made art I’d want them to send me everything they’d ever touched and hire a specific airplane to write DRAW ME NUDE in cloud in the sky. Today I walked along the river and told myself, “well now I am going to think about poetry,” I saw the most beautiful bird which was white with some black spots, and when I walked to the bulk food store to buy almonds and oats I stopped for four minutes to listen at a window to someone’s piano practice. That was the best part of my day. Not the morning and not the night.



I’m feeling like all that I need is to be patient and happiness will come to me as if happiness is simple as a slow-moving cloud of moths flying slowly, slowly, slowly towards me and really wanting to roost on my hair and my ears and my shoulderblades but I keep moving and they have to change direction and they are getting more and more tired and they used to fly very quickly and all together like a school of sardines on Shark Week but it’s been more than twenty years and they’ve probably only had the collective rest of like 45 minutes for that entire time and the happy-moth cloud is sooo0o tired and moving slowly after me and if I would just stop for a moment and inhale then the moth cloud, contentment, then it could land and tickle me and turn me all pale and soft like a moth, and even chew some of my skin off in the Florida sunshine, that would be perfectly lovely.

Think no more of the Luv of Satisfaction, think no more of The Future. Time passes, u are responsible for yr own child’s death, you learned a whole language for no reason, blah blah OH I am finally hungry again thank god I thought I would be bored forever.

Gillian Lee is a poet and video artist from Washington, DC. She likes reading poetry but mostly other peoples' diaries and her heart beats too quickly. Her poetry zine, A Goney Island of the Kidneys, was recently published on Gauss PDF. Her video "Jazz in Pink and Black" was recently published in the inaugural issue of Heather Press. She can be found on twitter (@whagever) and tumblr (@whaglever).