OF COURSE KYLIE JENNER HAS KNICKS LINGERIE

a woman sleeps in a clamshell adrift in a fountain on an estate
an unknown man from the City mows my grass

on a walk I scan trees, flowers into an app 
the difference between shape and shape 
of red 

across our bathroom sink termite wings scatter 
a verdict of air  

an influencer powders her face into shimmer
encrusted pave necklace pulsating on her chest  

the pluralities of lexicon 
the South happening 

I window shop a website for my baby 
think this is the hour fate favors

two girls in handkerchiefs balancing on milk jugs holding spotted chickens 
a woman who is meant to be a mother in what is meant to be Mallorca 
an $88 dress with maximum twirl power

in Mallorca 
a terra cotta rooftop 
the torch breaking in the corridor mouth

it is skillful to do everything to not fall apart 

arms dipped in oatmeal 
writing long emails 
taking no lovers 
a chair turned to face the wall 

a friend writes about the mask and when the mask is slipping 
how melodrama functions
which she states “may or may not be interesting” 

by some cruel design 
I have money 

moths spinning in a toddler water table full of plastic frogs
a fig in a magazine 
spoiling wound on a plate  

call it what it is  
not what it is like 

under another sun
a stone urn atop a pillar in a Georgia town 
I zoom in 2x, hit a button
I zoom in 2.5x, hit a button 
everyone genius

ALL HAIL THE NEW YORK INFLUENCER WHO POSTED
TIKTOKS THROUGHOUT HER WEDDING

the edge of lyric is tender
form: affixed to seeing

there is the imagined warmth and there is the imagined grain
sun striking your studio apartment

exile of hoar
baldaquin of vista
hummingbird piping sugar water at the window

if this is my end
what do I have and have 
to show?

masturbatory art
an outfit to match

I am learning to accept
the conditions of toil

waking up and remembering we all die 

a man falling over a sack of flour
his black shirt black, his blue jeans blue 

an article about Los Angeles losing its fruteros 

if this is work 
let it be the work that feeds you

body of snow 
ambient debris

of course I am trying to not to be
that woman who died on the internet

KYLIE AND TIMMY: STILL KISSING

I want the inside of me
to be the bones they find 

dumb light 
come spring

getting closer to the center 
one way to begin 

whomever you are feeding my Chinese money plant Poland Spring water 
tell me a story

TIMMY AND KYLIE ARE FINALLY RED-CARPET OFFICIAL

I wonder where the people have gone 

no eggs in the supermarket 
the blue of sky and its ceasing 

near our rental a bulldozer knocks down a wall 
then another wall 
behind that wall 

form falling outside itself 

I photograph 
a telephone pole before a magnolia tree 
make light of interval 
then I forget the pole
tree
seeing 

in the afternoons 
I walk across the street
then across that street
to another street

a plastic bag blowing in the wind
a digital print from negative 
a piece of another Provence

what metier
what blinking
what else 
can be said

sound is exactly what sound sounds like 

in another life I was a Belgian saint eating trash

my soft organs were pulled to the surface, weighted
in soft hands, 
examined softly then put 
back in place 

my personal effects catalogued:
feather, epoxy, textured poplin, 
something tortoiseshell, something 
designer, something
knockoff

remember: a shoreline is not a line

write this down  
write this down again 

I am not at the party
I am not at the party

I am missing the ocean 
which is also the sea

Stevie Belchak is a poet and writer living in San Jose, Costa Rica. She is also the author of Anna Delvey Swears She Didn't Dump Those Rabbits (blush), State of My Undress (o-blek), and an editor with blush.