Prophylactic Routine

Prophylactic Routine
for the love of any such Dolores
            by Jessica Morey-Collins

Sometimes it helps to fasten shut
the eyes, and imagine 

that the rush of blood amid
the ears is visible 

(a festival of red
rivulets; a millennia of tiny hands 

 in applause). Allow the soft
cosmos of the body 

to lurch toward oblivion.
Under the impenetrable

nectar of observation,
the throb rooted 

to eternity loosens.
Amaranth collapses. 

A flurry of used
settles over the vents. 

Time passes: re-rivet open
lids. Perfume stings

the eyes. After millennia,
you notice your hands. 

Perhaps preceding days have been
diminutive, given 
in reverie 

of pearl and umbra,
futile hand wrapped
around your cock. 

How simple: peel up
a shudder from scraped knees

above bobby socks. The sweet wink
of guileless light spilled 

from an open window,
a silhouette still

in crescendo. Sometimes it helps
to venerate the ooze 

toward inertia, to love
the lapse of days as 

if chosen. To overcome
inventions, the hunger
for a flame permanently

aglow. Douse the light.


Jessica Morey-Collins received her MFA from the University of New Orleans, where she won an Academy of American Poets award, and worked as associate poetry editor for Bayou Magazine. Her poems can be found or are forthcoming in Pleiades, Prairie Schooner, Juked, and elsewhere. She currently studies hazard mitigation in the University of Oregon's Masters of Community and Regional Planning program. Find her at