Dec. 11, 2011
I don’t want “CROATOAN” as my epitaph.
I want a sign over my door that reads, Are You Loved?
I want to have something against you. I want you to have something against me.
I want lip gloss for blood, mascara wands for teeth.
I want to destroy all the red pens in the world. And the ability to make red pens.
I want to find the human male equivalent of Garamond.
I want my drift caught.
I want a switch-on, switch-off-operated afterlife. Like flies trapped in light fixtures.
I want my life beautifully hijacked.
I want to go on a date where the guy destroys everything in an art museum because, he says, I am the only work of art.
I want to be thought of as a juggernaut.
I want to hire someone to go on dream recon and tell me all the things I can’t remember.
I want the sea to show me its bruises.
I want a college course in bedroom eyes rhetoric.
I want to swap the eyes of predators with those of prey.
I want to tongue the inside of someone’s beating heart. I want the favor returned.
I want my skin to come off cleanly, at one go.
I want everyone’s nipples to be as aggressive as mine.
I want forensic shows to stop making porn out of death. I want to stop enjoying it. (No I don’t.)
I want to go back in time and stop myself looking at an eclipse.
I want to stop feeling insecure about my inability to skip stones.
I want fear and glamour to stop trending.
I want to pull out all these stops.
I want my wants to come out backwards, on all fours.
Ellen Caswell is currently in her last year as a PhD candidate in the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee's Creative Writing Program in poetry. Her chapbook, Going Without, was recently published by Dancing Girl Press. She recieved her MFA from the University of Arizona where she loved the desert, but was happy to come to a place with all four seasons.