I’d like to recount a particular scene in this movie
Theatrophobia…fear of theatres.
It is an ordinary morning. There
to the left and over her desk
Is the bedroom window— the window
where everything begins.
Because one slat is missing from the blinds,
The light first falls
right onto the bed
where she is sleeping.
Eosophobia…fear of dawn or daylight.
There it is, that incredible slant
My left foot is naked, but I ignore it.
I feel very small
Microphobia…fear of small things.
Athazagoraphobia…fear of being forgotten or ignored.
To me my feet were moving,
Eerotophobia…fear of sexual love
Moist and pale
Leukophobia…fear of the color white.
The smell sweet,
odd and familiar as they lie
as broken grey stone
Placophobia…fear of tombstones.
We were each other’s plural then
On the white-curtained bed
in Pensione Agnani, beaded
Eisoptrophobia…fear of mirrors, of seeing oneself in a mirror.
from tribal elders
Chorophobia…fear of dancing.
Kinetophobia…fear of moving.
You cried, went out
A tribe of flowers from their bud cases.
Anthophobia…fear of flowers.
Later, eggs scrambled themselves in a hurry.
Tachophobia…fear of speed,
Xanthophobia…fear of the color yellow.
some foods are vegetables
and some are not
Lachanophobia…fear of vegetables.
Carnophobia…fear of meat.
Next thing you know, we are in the diner on the corner of Marsh and Blank streets,
Reading, and eating grilled cheese.
Deipnophobia…fear of dining.
(I’ve found a way to arrange my plate so it keeps the book open
without my having to hold it)
Bibliophobia…fear of books.
We listened to the jukebox
That some young kids kept putting quarters into,
Melophobia…fear of music.
Chrometephobia…fear of money.
It could have been any song, a familiar complaint tamed
by generations of repetition.
“It was like the Beatles.”
Mnemophobia…fear of memories,
Insectophobia…fear of insects
And I asked her if she’d ever like to get away with me.
You know, for forever.
Apeirophobia…fear of infinity.
She tells me the Coralliophilidae, or coral shells,
are a world wide family
of tropical mollusks.
Ostraconophobia…fear of shellfish.
The Latiaxis are extremely popular
due to the diversity
of shapes and frilly spines.
Aichmophobia…fear of needles and other pointed objects.
More than 15 genera are included in the family,
though the morphological characteristics
do not differ greatly among the species.
Metathesiophobia…fear of changes.
Slowly, the eerie silence of the night
Then the buzz
of a lawnmower,
Acousticophobia…fear of noise.
Mechanophobia…fear of machines.
Followed by the rumble of the garbage truck,
Ligyrophobia…fear of loud noises.
Suddenly the clock radio clicks on
Chronomentrphobia…fear of clocks
She picks up the enormous cello and places it
Between her legs.
Stenophobia…fear of narrow places.
Eurotophobia…fear of female genitalia
The days passed and seemed to fold into each other.
Symmetrophobia…fear of symmetry.
Barophobia…fear of gravity,
Aurophobia…fear of gold.
I watched the weather shift
Anemophobia…fear of wind,
Ombrophobia…fear of rain,
Chionophobia…fear of snow.
Heat, thick as a blanket
into the room,
Eyes, hips, everything rounded to the moon.
Selenophobia…fear of the moon.
Tongue touches tongue touches tongue
Chiraptophobia…fear of being touched,
Philemaphobia…fear of kissing.
The unbelievable purifies, yet
We cannot name
Nomatophobia…fear of names,
Astrophobia…fear of celestial space.
what we see
without reaching far.
Epistemophobia…fear of knowledge,
Hedonophobia…fear of feeling pleasure.
Eremophobia…fear of being oneself.
is a celestial lubricant found in wormholes, which some scientists claim can help man slide forward or backward through space and time, like stepping on a banana peel or coating a finger with butter to remove a too tight wedding ring. Those that disagree say, like most rational people, that time travel is impossible, that time overlaps, so while I’m writing this sentence, it has already been rewritten, so to try to figure out how the words assembled themselves on the page is pointless, like trying to understand daily life back when the lightbulb meant electricity, back when I was still invisible and dry and my own quantum foam (which I assume is a slick, iridescent aura) had not yet achieved the effervescent quality needed for my body to slither through these suburban milkyways and repel strip-mall meteor showers. But what I want is to imagine this aural foam fully formed, a body halo or shield allowing me to hopscotch through the universe without erasing my own chalk lines. Sooner or later, when my foam is replaced by tar or glue, my body will wait to hurl itself into oblivion like a dying star, and I will leave behind a faint spark, a glint in the night, which will cross a stranger’s sight as they stare up into the sky and make a wish. Then, the dogs and elephants turning on the water on Saturn will bloom. Q-tips will unravel and the joy of crossing birth control off the long list of things I have to think about will become an endless knot of meditation or a spotless counter-top or too many hours spent yanking slot machine arms on Ladies Night at the Seminole Casino. My principles are not negotiable. If you need me I will be in the bathroom, on my knees, coating myself with a thick layer of cheap moisturizer and playing Scrabble with the moon.