Purple Dust and Owning Things

My name is my own my own my own

owning myself entirely is the only way

to ward off the worrying: the wrong

doing; the only sane way to sit at a restaurant

outside the context of botched operations

staining the fabric of my dress blue and pink and

white; I can’t see the stars in the sky anymore

I can’t breathe or sigh anymore when I have to wait

to catch my breath or a bus to get anywhere else

besides here. I trace the texture on my face my

face of purple stars billowing in soft fabrics wrapped around my outline

owning my starry-eyed soul is the most direct route to meaningless salvation

separated from the rest of the meaningful world the most direct route

through a memorized painting is the colors I perceive.