At a party getting to know all the cute
space time continuums,
I wasn’t spiraling, just getting my name
out there, testing the waters
in bodies not my own.
A cup was full in one realm
and empty in another.
It was fun to watch the liquid timeline
stretch across the room.
I tried to catch it halfway, lapped up
some solitary soda between dimensions.
Everyone was a blob.
Their drinks were grey, and also blobs.
One blob was so fragmentary,
I couldn’t dance with it.
There was no food, just purple
stream lights, black holes I couldn’t
get accustomed to,
Every manner of decoration—
and things I had no words for.
I liked the sky best
and decided to pet it:
Silky, and soft.
It’s linguistic kissing,
one blob was explaining
to another, something about
A blob slyly inserted a Chinese finger trap
onto my index finger and joined it
with the space where its finger
might have been.
I don’t know where it got the toy.
The blob must have thought I’d like it.
The blob told me I was a lovely
compilation of sound, skin,
Was mostly interested in
the digestive system.
Frankly, I don’t want to blow
into mouths, it explained.
I suppose I looked grateful,
Some other way to reach oblivion.
Twenty-year-old humans are boring,
I said, wrapping nova necklaces
of comet tails around my neck, instantly
eating my words.
That’s just your own
the blob curtailed, chomping
my leftover quotations
To illustrate, it created new versions
of time and space
in midair, where events drove forward
when they wanted to,
Create a new world, make it so.
Create a world.
I started in my mind.
I tried to zap purple lights
into pink, switch language
None of it worked.
I didn’t have the same powers
that the blob did.
Not like that, it cautioned.
It pulled horoscopes out of my mouth
so I’d forget about futures, and left.
It was a sweet parting
with an important friend.
I could only control
my own weight in the world.
Destinies aren’t divinity.
I skirted around the side table
just as one of its legs
all propped up in the corner
like some abandoned peg leg.
Things were getting weird.
Blobs were, became, remained,
Every blob shuffled to a secret rhythm
only they knew about.
I wished they’d turn up the music,
Drown out my feet and hands,
Lilt my skin in space serrated, a cut
I’d made through time
I would, or would not, return to.