existential

I am a girl
of sand and fire.
I am a voodoo doll
held together by my
pins. I am a sentient collection
of ants. I am a girl-shaped
form made out of ashes;
pour me through
a sieve and watch me
disappear. I am a gingerbread
woman; bite my head off
to put me out of my misery. I am
the Wicked Witch
of the West, melting in the rain.

I am a ghost, a breath
of hot air from your mouth;
I am steam, condensing into
being and then dispersing
as fast as I appeared.
I’m the last dying ember
of a dead star. I’m a whirlwind
of sand inside a sirocco.

I’m only real
as long as your eyes
can see me.

mayday

I am a lonely robot
slowly dying, alone
in the vast emptiness
of space. I bleat out my
distress signal but
it’s gradually, imperceptibly
growing weaker, as passing
rockets and satellites
continue to ignore it
and me, I continue to
die by degrees. and yet
I can’t stop saying it, to
myself and to
the unfeeling stars:
S.O.S.
mayday mayday mayday
S.O.S.
mayday mayday mayday
S.O.S.
mayday
mayday
mayday
S.
O.
S.
mayday