dj khaled got lost on his jetski coming home from rick ross's house at night in 2015
dj khaled nearly died at sea
nighttime and he left the shore too fast
nobody reminded dj khaled to memorize the movement of the moon
to orient himself in the dark expanse
snapchatting through the void
“the key is to make it
the key is to never give up”
key emoji key emoji
in the dark at night searching desperately for land
searching desperately for the key emoji
“the key is to make it”
the key is to keep yelling into the darkness into the void until you're spat out on the other side
the key is two slide clad feet on the ground in your mansion, serenade your lion statues it's 2015 and you're alive to see the sun rise again
(another one)
alive to post to your snapchat story tomorrow praise the lord
“the key is not to drive your jetski in the dark
this is against the law
and not even just that
this ain't right”
we are with dj khaled as the lights of the city leave him
with him as he learns that the water turns black at night
light sucked from the sea and sky and
dj khaled keeps on jetsikiing
skirting the edges of the world
nearing the drop
who is zayzee and why should his followers call her?
why is he able to access snapchat but not gps?
how does dj khaled eventually get home, roll on a dry pair of socks?
does he sleep that night and the nights after
plagued by a fear of the sea?
what does dj khaled dream of and is it a nightmare of dark of ocean of void of destitution of loneliness of loss
of endless motor sucked out into endless sea?
Spring Cleaning
it is spring
i am wishing you good morning
i didn't wake up alone but as good as
i know i talk a lot about cleanliness
the act of it
soul bearing soul scrubbing
how delicious it is to be clean
and it's true
freshly showered bright eyes
and i can smell good for a while
4am sunday morning had me shaking in the shower
eyes seeing the new day coming over from the old night
cleanliness of a sort
laid in bed shaking a little slower
listened to lana del ray
messaged catherine a couple times
and the sun rose
and i loved saturday
i said nothing unhinged and it was all so fine
in the name of cleanliness of head
of kitchen
of cabinets
i admittedly do things that make guests uncomfortable
poisoned the cabinets friday
took every item out scrubbed it all down with warm water
dropped in the plastic combat gel houses
hot pink sticky notes laced with advion in the corners and along the cracks
i dare them to come
i wish for them to come
i stood in the kitchen
danced across the tiles
imagined them dying by scores by generations
in the walls
the walls filling with the cannibalistic bodies of them
the poisons work because they have no morals
moraless they eat the sickened bodies of the dead
and the poison reverberates outwards
imagined my building thanking me for clearing us all of an infestation
the likes of which no one knew even existed
haven't seen a live roach in my building in a year and yet
deepset beliefs die difficult
the human desire for the feeling of cleanliness
of emptiness of safety of comfort
of courage to open the cupboards when the moon's out
courage to smash a little body under the sink
with a tide bottle one year ago
it is spring
i am begging you to thank me
my neighbors in the hallway have no idea
of the wreckoning i dropped
of the bodies in the walls
of the deity residing in 2r
don't call it a god complex
i am a complex god
cleanliness is next to me
friday afternoon my arcless yearly flood
the wednesday fog over new york, a fog
of final exhale
in nebraska spring was a different animal
squirrels in the walls
lying in bed in the sun room
half asleep and the building was sinking
the building was always sinking
listening to them traveling, scratching
tails swishing through the crumbled
plaster i'd hear falling every time
i hammered in a new nail
tried to tell the man lying next to me friday morning
about everything that can reside in walls
and how to clean them
how to be clean
how all the exterminators that aren't me are bullshit
but he had no interest in being clean
in killing the walls out
he had taken a shower that morning and i liked
watching him rub lotion quickly
across his shoulders and chest
later i walked down linden alone
shoulda showered but i didn't
it was killing day and that takes precedence
it's all spring cleaning baby
just spring cleaning
it's the cleaning and
the flowers blooming and blurring in the cold night beneath the moon
and yet friday afternoon killing day, i caught myself
complex god, tasks completed
kneeling in the bathroom
crosseyed in the half sun
later, nathan told me that i must’ve brought it on myself
too heavy handed with the poison
caught my own god’s ass in the crosshairs
in the moment someone in the air shaft
sang swinging party, so slow so haunting
interrupted by my own retching
it's all spring cleaning
they're dead and dying and it's all reverberating outwards, upwards
it’s friday afternoon and my poisons are cleaning me from the inside out
contents of my stomach rising up from whence it came
clawing my throat in the climb as if aching to see the weak sun again
scrubbed out tasted it twice
and my god
laid on the cool tile after
eyes closed
sweat freezing
felt calm
felt euphoric
felt clean
MORGAN BOYLE is a pushcart nominated poet and librarian from Nebraska currently based in Ridgewood, Queens. Her work can be found in FENCE, HAD, Bullshit Lit, and dream boy book club, among other journals, as well as in Peach Mag’s Something Right Here anthology. She can be found on IG @starlight.barking and Twitter @morganlefay777.