heaven’s gate

if it weren’t for my wishes
& if it weren’t for my
wax drunk hands,
choke, & spit
i could have been ravished
i could have rolled over in bed
to feel the gun chill on my side
too bad dreams
lack any meaning
& to interpret a text
is to waste a last breath
then suffer the rot

little rascal

i left everything
the way it was
prove me wrong

object permanence

disfigured
how could i
and yet
with all this 
and with all this sound
and with all these lights
and with all these people
and with all this
i remain
individuated
in the eternal
bathroom mirror
which persists
in its display
of the lack of me

i thought i thought
something special
but the whole world
was outside
i thought i had secrets
until i learned
they were shared

and with my whole head on its side
and with my whole goddamn head
on its whole goddamn side
couch cushions in shambles
i confess that
before braying in the backyard
i crushed god’s fingernails
into a crystalline powder

is this what you wanted from me
to exist at the terminus
of maximal projection
and still somehow offer
a series of surprise

i thought it’d be different


i took my left shoe off
then removed my right
i held a knife to my head
but i didn’t dare shoot

six arms loose on the training ground
six arms propelling over and over
on impacted soil

she said i could have been surrendered
she said i could have been last but i wasn’t

but with all things aside
but with all things aside pushing over and over

i could have never stood straight
even if for
the life of me




Shy Watson wrote Horror Vacui (House of Vlad). More work can be found in Southwest Review, Joyland, New York Tyrant, and elsewhere. She is an MFA candidate at University of Montana and an instructor at Catapult. ︎