I make my own rules. I do not set a bearing south. I pitch forward and the gasoline pours over my head like water. My heavy necklace of briar-rasp & dirt, the ends of my dripping hair. GOD is spitting on me. GOD is sending his glitter-shit sunshine skimming across the water. There is a woman on my back feeding me walnuts. She is making me eat twenty-five, yelling more than just one. Her tiled teeth, the space between each one—grout. Here I am. Adorned in kevlar. Decorated with flies, sucking on my almost-neck. I have been anointed. That oil: hot, pink, flung across the bar—making it hum. My body is a woman’s body. I am not dead. I am sleeping. I am throwing up into my own hands & I don’t know what to do with it. The woman on my back is saying you’re a sweet girl, always smiling.