she gestures toward a pink cloud inside digital forest wallpaper and says:
this is my cloud. it contains all my data
uncle moon sees the white screen in my glasses
and he kicks on night reading mode–
everything white turns black, saves energy, and the print turns white.
small van icon moving alongside the round white switch
happening inside the diaphanous
the radical / frieze of clouds
a conscience / collective unconscious / collective
it stirs smaller, repeats its circuit ceaselessly
disconnects from variation
disconnects from vary
A polar bear walking backwards through a door repeatedly
gets rid of “I” and moves branches
sighs along the crunch
the ball dropped to the street doesn’t bounce
a dead path, footsteps stopped mid-stairs, an immovable string on a guitar
Cynthia Arrieu-King teaches creative writing, literature, and general studies. Her poetry books include People are Tiny in Paintings of China, Manifest, and Futureless Languages. Her poetry book Continuity is forthcoming from Octopus Books and her book of experimental memoir The Betweens is forthcoming from Noemi in 2021.
Serotonin 