Thomas Osatchoff
IN NEED OF A SHOWER

In the sour aurora borealis of our political reveries
every bruise dives together in a drink of lead paint

pouring out of smoky eyes poked out at the broken border
again we were stopped at the dirty border again

doing the thirsty gecko
in need of a hopeless shower…

we’d rather have thirty legs and arms cut off
in a hurry than let go of the neutral internet cut off

brainet slowly enough
so that we don’t notice

barbed-wire painted futile for higher rents
with white lead paint to be more durable, dryer,

blinder deep-sea fangtooths
surviving in the smooth stateless seas

of hydrogen sulfide vents
rather than bent light’s every cutting desire.

Wearing very large eyes without need of a mate. With no light,
humpback anglerfish, there’s no need to be pretty. We can hide

in our chemosynthetic cathedral until citrus Christmas
sinking to a deeper tropical past stained-glass plankton

constellations
painted as flesh

reflected in the soon to be cracked black mirror
of the severed seas ready to sting itself a new god.

Into this painted walled garden for octopodes.
Into this Möbius band gelatinous trench treasure

of neural lace implants for hot thoughts
in a hot sea of mind: plantations

of toilet tissue skeletal
structures fit for feeding

from hydrothermal pirate ship
switches both on and off auto

immune to life and death…
as in a Lucian Freud portrait.

Perhaps it will turn out to be fortunate.
Or perhaps a study by Bacon is more apt.

Perhaps we will awaken to have a ruddy stake in it again
but if we are neither alive nor dead then what are we? Aloof

cannonball cameras
on cannabis?

Cannibals.
On cancer.

Proof
of concept.

Grandmother went to a spiritual retreat after her mastectomy
and mother went to the interior of the next state over

to get away from the sea.
So they were not eaten.

I’m not alone because grandfather is here.
But the biggest fear is his being here.

What is he doing?

Sucking on a lozenge
and coughing up lemon flavored blood.

I do things for him in consideration of my grandmother
because I love her very much but he has already tried me.

You can stay with me.

I’m trying to take a shower right now
but the bathroom door lock is broken.

You can shower here.

I’m just afraid he’ll come when I’m in the shower.
But don’t worry. I’ll take care here.

Tell me when you’re done so I know you’re okay.

Thomas Osatchoff is doing fieldwork for his debut volume of poetry. He has resided in many places throughout the world where he has had opportunities to develop his perspective. His work has appeared recently both online and in print.

Read more from Cleaver Magazine’s Issue #23.