How do you wake up happy, beyond your roots?
It’s a snap: a rainbow of shimmering champagnes
inside the closet with a sensual liquid. You may be like
the sun at night, a dip in the day’s oil. The gold mask
casts a shadow that’s visible just below your skin,
the veins in your arm, your face, your neck—
a larger halo for the journey to a heaven.

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This month, I’m writing poems using words and phrases from the January issue of O Magazine. I’m finding it surprisingly harder than December Good Housekeeping. The language is so high-toned that it’s difficult to split it open, and also in some cases, people are sharing personal stories that it’s hard not to walk respectfully past.

Cry for your moment, child. Alone.
Name the feeling when you break down,
a lovely thing for dying early. Something else
wide open, guided by voices winding down
the good fight. Choking on blood, how do we
keep safe? The haves and the have nots,
relatively speaking, are multi-orgasmic types.
The larger universe dismisses the mood.

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New year, new month, new magazine. It’s a lot different from the one I was working with last month (remember, I’m writing poems using words and phrases found in one issue of a particular magazine).