PROCESSIONAL OF SLEEP AIDS AND STEP WORK

there is this piece of me missing midnight

a piece that doesn’t fit quite right, tilted
too far,
jagged,
bleach-burned the color of my skin but
the neon is starting to seep through

there is a piece of me i have sewn shut
thirty times over still whispering
friday night

sometimes i sleepwalk to my mother’s
empty liquor cabinet
sometimes i put on lipstick
sometimes i ache for black-lit masses, all
of our sins shining for each other, all of us kissing anyways

this piece of me dances slow-hipped
and slick
swallows the bassline, pushes it
through until
she is VIBRATION AND VIVANCE

this piece of me, she takes

always pressing my tongue against teeth, always begging another taste of
something i buried in the backyard
something still not stilled

this piece of me, she won’t go until i do

and when we do, it will be her hands around the bottle
and when we do, she will laugh

all
the
way
down

By Kat Myers

Biography:

Kat Myers is an emerging poet who used to sing but lost her voice at the bottom of a bottle. She is learning to speak again. She lives in North Carolina with her dog, Briseis, and can be found at pernoxs.tumblr.com.