my assignment is to "draw chaos"

micron pen like a hatchet overtaking the ivory i can’t reach.

it's somewhere between my lungs from the first time someone really left

it's what chaos tries to force out with smoke. three fires in one week.

a car bursting into flames outside my window. oxygen tank missing a beep.

scripture in the deviation of wood on the mantel.

my assignment is to draw blood can’t find it i graze my arm

against the espresso machine when i try pulling shots fast enough but

my skin doesn't know how to talk about god

it has all these locks i'm afraid to pick. sunspots that could return me

to Apollo himself so i pretend my own skin is god and I wait for the bus

i'm always waiting for the bus.

my sister was hit by a car but she doesn’t talk about god

just pulls into the saint lucy’s parking lot at the 2 pm bells

“i love that noise,” she says. “no, that sound.”

i can’t hear it. my ears, always ringing. yesterday for five minutes

he spoke to her by my name then she called me, let the phone ring twice

before hanging up.

whenever it comes, she is the canary before the air runs out.