︎︎︎ Clementine Morse

︎ August 18, 2022

A backwards discipline
Sucks soot from skin’s torn tips
Moves forward into dusking
To welcome the morning better
While doomsday should hold out for a rinse
Into the basin in browns and foams
And then find home in residue

Alternatively you could fall off reckless
and end anticlimactic
with gratitude as it hangs above the sill
folded into white doilies
etched with someone’s cursive initials

Names of backwards disciplines:
I don’t use forms or numbers
I only lie for pity
I eat the table for sustenance
I will only apologize to myself
I demand the screw go in without a driver
I let a cat on the counter for flowers
I get my dignity for free
I find no information about this on the internet
I am not grateful
I fill tupperware with refried expiration
I close doors while on my knees for intrusion
I possess I desire I already want it I got it I want it
I pumped your septic tank while I was sleeping
I’m sorry I did that as a favor

How long can a reaction last?
in phases it plasters over talk
its permafrost skelters me raw and flinching
I sing a naming song new and without rhyme
caught in the turnstile turning turning towards
no descent to transit

In my backwards discipline
my movement sways me in a cavern in a canyon
only a bloated voice where music ricochets will rest me
trickle thinly my own voice my own hissing discipline

Clementine Morse
is a poet and preschool teacher from Brooklyn, New York. She currently lives in Los Angeles. You can find her @clementinemorse on Instagram.

Also by Clementine: Estate Management