SPECTACLE WORK ❋ Georgia Faust

BEFORE AFTER Bowling
Green I took a Doc Martin off
to identify the irritant:
crystal like rock
salt to eject I am
the morning spectacle.

After Franklin Avenue an exploding
seltzer bottle spectacled
me.      After document
slicing the sting
and then the red
to surface [so determined
to keep momentum
of a train track]
on vertical lines
holding up sky in cold
because the sun
inconsistent to cells,
windows, and
other perpendiculars.

Park Avenue retains
heat, sunlight drawn.

Tea on chair, ring
around the couch,
milk uncovered.     Exploded
to the floor-flesh.     Alert
mode: a bag the shape of
a body.     If you see something
you cannot sit glued
to the news of
an important disaster event.

Separate living past
from living tragedy
curated tourism experiences.
Someone walked away
with my braid.     Someone detached
my braid and walked away
with my braid.     I keep my eyes
open I can’t stop I can’t stop
myself.     Am I on the roof
or aren’t I?     A cop asks,
“are you alright?” to the diagram
map.     As in, I’m in this now.

I forgot to give back, hi.
As soon as the doors closed,
I rattled mechanic
head on neck stand.
I want to be the puzzle of
a logically impossible
Venn Diagram.

To be a major
player on my face: absent
peripheral vision.     High
on employment.     Turn
the ring gem in: the snake
snapped at neck,
whatever that means.

The head returns the knot
muscle traded in
for the cat skeleton I now
am in shades of pain
trying on for size.     Head rushes
overuse flesh superlatives
ruddy of positive and negatives
depend upon excitable
perception frequencies.

The having of the flood
city into sea.     I drowned
in tower slept in other
beds a night, per diem.

I told you the underthings
are fireproof, proof of storm,
proof of changeling
channeling the natural
disaster tourism board.

I spent exactly no times
in mirrors.     Not taking
tourism seriously enough.

People avalanche,
three times around the stadium.