Christine Hou

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ENVISIONING THE FUTURE CAN BE DANGEROUS

My amnesia is self-inflicted. Yogurt sways back and
forth inside me. I hover majestically from here to there,
through hot temperatures and high humidity. A little
white lie makes my pouch heavy. It makes its way
round and into a nice fence. An onslaught of e-mails
makes anxiety worse, a slaughterhouse of spam.
What about my dreams? “You’re young so you’re
gonna wanna fuck like bunnies,” she said. I think so,
yes. But I still whimper in my sleep (not a girly boy).
I make it out in a quick and queer zigzag, hypothetically
speaking. The truth is I want to be a hippie in a circle
skirt. I want to be free. My plans to arrive early to
this conclusion are thwarted by wishful thinking and
thunderstorms. I lack the proper amount of testosterone
to make decisions efficiently. I take butter in my tea.
I may be doomed to repeat myself, but it is my
backyard, not yours.

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COMMUNITY GARDEN FOR LONELY GIRLS

Ordinary feelings require melodramatic status.
A driveway cannot expect sympathy especially
if it is rotten and surrounded by invasive species.
I dream sporadically of reincarnation. I wet myself
thinking about the possibility. In movies, wounded
female birds attract fancy men. The brown bird of reality
is the true vacillator. A love story is told with a razorblade
tucked beneath its tongue. Sometimes I am alarmed by
the facts it produces. Most of the time I accept them.
To rub up against someone else’s love is dangerous.
Even if the feeling is mutual one must take into account
vocation. A vocation does not always have a place.
A vacation usually does, mine is a melting shopping
mall where I encounter a corporate water fountain,
an enormous green globe glistening like a peeled grape.
I throw pennies at it until it explodes. How easy it is to
confuse irresponsible behavior for radical politics,
incurable mania, witchy spells, etc.
Goodnight self, my goddess is dimming.

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