No King

#No King

  If I'm honest with myself
  I can't see the ocean from here
  Only housetops and tree branches and the
  Occasional green-black garbage bin
  But I like to pretend that if I crick my neck
  And tilt my head just right
  I can catch a glimmer of phosphorous blue
  And the flick of a mermaid tail
  Which might be an orca

  I don't know what I want to write about
  Maybe I'll write about beaches, and kings, and kelp, and
  What's the word for unsustained contentment?
  That moment of sudden clarity when
  The world snaps into focus
  And you realize you've been romanticizing
  Over a Grilled Stuft Burrito and
  A moldy car that leaks when it rains

  You tell me that God has a plan for everyone
  But how can I trust Jesus
  When Mary Magdalene is so much more relatable
  And I am no one at all?
  Because religion is a tank-shaped robot holding a Bible
  And I can see all the gears and springs
  Or if not God, trust you
  You told me once during sex that
  I had the tightest pussy you've ever fucked
  And I was weirdly proud of that
  Because finally here was
  Something I was better than other girls at
  Even this poem has no kings in it
  No kelp, no beach.

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More Poetry from Lana:

Chambers Street

On Regret

The Man of Châlons

Beast

Silence Is.

The Day I Caught The Sun

Nearly Zero