I want to be a spectacle

so I stick pussy willows in my ears
tape petals of apricot roses
to the highest point on my forehead
& lay topless on my roof’s asphalt
shingles which give me hives
under the long-night moon
I will be everything
all the boys told me I was
swollen with frenzy
found wanting sprawling
among canopies of live oaks
not as romantic as you’d think
I have seen men and thought
I could fuck up his life
if I really wanted to
three times I really wanted to
& twice I really did

I have this other want
to be tiny and fussed over
like Lizzie Siddal in cold water
like malaise Ophelia floating
in forget-me-nots still
with her tits out of the river
I bet a gallery curator would look at me
framed here & say to the patrons
this is the moment
she is letting herself drown
so much of beauty is the desire
for resolve between bodies
in a generation obsessed with ghosts
I want to fill a mouth
with cloves
turn the heat up high
and pretend it’s summer