1. Mechanic blue skies reflecting the shape of my body de-bossed in your memory foam mattress.
2. No more honest surfaces here but a wide choice of hotels. The idea of tourists leaving the imprint of their skulls on mattresses all over the city is scary. I am curious about the potential massive shapes created over nights over bodies & nights heap over bodies against bodies until the trip is over.
3. A new hardness is felt when I think of our coordinates. Soft pores entangled like bike chains.
4. When my back bends like a spoon. Hitting jello at 200 mph.
5. Cause it’s zero to sixty in three point five. Smoother than a limousine. Can you handle the curves, can you run all the lights. It’s only about accepting the consequences of sounds and quoting Rihanna.
6. I want to know if I am really made of stone and sugar when I engage with the strength of the wind until my eyes cry independently of my neural tissues. Tears tasting like coconut.
7. Sometimes I am an endless coconut waterfall then.
8. I look up a survey to know which object I can be, based on my performativity. Halfway through I feel the stickiness of my muscles covered with price tags.
9. I choose to be a menthol capsule in a cigarette filter that you can crush right before you kiss.
10. But really when asleep, I am nothing but an oxygen thief.
Alizee Lenox is a poet living in Berlin, her work was published by Metatron, Transmute Publishing, Laugh Magazine, Edition Kiosk, 100for10 Editions and Nichons nous dans l’Internet. She has read at various venues, including the loading dock of a supermarket for one of the Ying Colosseum’s intervention, as well as in museums and galleries in Europe.