JD Scott     

 

CYOA

Phantasmagoria

 

CYOA

 

You wake up in a pool of blood.
You are on a pool float, and the blood is not your blood,
you are not bleeding,
but you are in a pool of blood.
The pool float is in the shape of an eel,
or a leech, which would make more sense,
given the circumstances.
You're not really sure—
you don't want to move around too much.
There is a diving board at the other side of the pool.
It does not have blood on it.
You think you must have angered someone
to end up here in a space where one
or multiple people were probably murdered.
You must have done something to rouse
in giga-gallons of hemoglobin,
Olympic-sized arena of rubies.
You think: it would take quite a lot of veins
to bleed a pool this full.
You are logical and perceptive,
which is why you are still alive.
Don't fall in, you say, your mouth of nickel
and eyed salted. Paddle with hand
or foot, red glove or sock,
and climb upon the coquina deck
without tumbling backwards.
You did it.
You have escaped the pool of blood
that you woke up in, on an inflatable raft,
which you are now certain, is in the shape
of a leech. You woke up in a pool of blood
without knowing how you got there
or what you will do next.

 
 

Phantasmagoria

 

I think its time to put on my heels & go hyperapocalypse
A hole opens in a kenophobic margin                & I inhabit
that pagination w/                       baubles, trinkets, tchotchke,
curio …
                            there are legendary creatures here
w/ neon cords                 wrapping around their fabled limbs
Unicorns appear & I think,
Could you be any less subtle?
             Those horns casting                   iridescent atomic bombs
This universe invaded by arabesque    Tetris blocks touching
each edge of the            playing field

yes                     We have established
the suffocation               So I go cottaging
in the woods                   I drink oolong tea         on a stump
& Disney birds                whisper secrets                          in my ears
They say, “You are being very coy right now,”
    & I say, “Am I?
            & wink w/ my ultra-violent lashes
              & the world is ending & to be honest its kinda cute
& I go to lightless parts of the ocean                    where beasts
as big as high-rises in Dubai      sit in the dark
Coral fills my veins                      There is so much clutter
Aquatic Collyer                             booby traps     lobster traps
So I appear in the sky                  I am the angel Azrael
Indestructible and uncomfortably honeyed        Palpable hunkiness
via deformed wings
                                         Fractals
are filling up the horizon                          Portals appear everywhere
Junkyard toys empty out           Rain                                   Choirs of thrush
                                                       sing
Hobbyhorses are here               Kaleidoscopes                 Trompos             Ocarinas&
Rattlebacks                    Hoops               
Paperplanes       Marbles dressed as the earth
                                         Heaven’
s ataxia
& more              pour                   out from the vault
of void                             I mean  everything
Pearled mermen                          Undines crying                Sylphs gooing
up the parking lot                        of aether
                                                                        There is a mythological
orgy&                                the universe is imploding in a glittery Ragnarok
              &I’m like              ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm                gurl
Whose fantasy is this                                Holler, cosmic pissplay
Don’t ask me what is happening                              I just wanted to be “as one

When did the world become the world                  Full of such excess
                                         Maximalist wonder
I say “Goodbye, Pericarp.”
                        Goodbye, Golden Hour! sings the birds
             
I leave the fae creatures and the beaks              I go
to Elysium                       The earth’s inner core
Innermost chamber                                   in the heart of a newt
or salamander                Whatever I am most familiar w/             One witchy fate
              At last it is quiet                            I am without
monsters                        
Bijou, bijou                                    Sahasrara
              A glass xylophone                        Two human hearts impaled on chopsticks
Two notes                        I begin                             to play


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JD Scott is the author of Night Errands (YellowJacket Press, 2012) and FUNERALS & THRONES (Birds of Lace Press, 2013). He has work forthcoming in Best American Experimental Writing 2015.