Tagged: literature
Thirty
I was standing in line with you
when I passed out, fainted
I guess, and woke up
on the floor
I remember feeling
guilty, like I had overslept
and how different
you looked
appearing over me, like
a mother, or a god
both perfect
and impatient
my elbow hurts – I realize
I must have fallen on it
you say I may have fallen forward
if it hadn’t been for you
how lucky – I am grateful
– I am weak – I am
let down gently – I am
long to see
the security footage
in which your calmness
plays out like a silent film
in which
the faces of the embarassed
become everyone, black
and white, at each moment
assigned a time
SWAT
woke up drenched again, not
dreams, not raining, who knows
– there’s a resiny
imprint of me
on my mattress –
I go through what I ate
when, the withdrawal symptoms
of things like caffeine
pot, what I’m wearing
sleep positions, if
I should shower before
maybe my matress is a valley
my blankets roads
I overheat, sweat
become cold, pull them up
to wake unsure
where the water came from
if it’s water at all, or just salt
if while sleeping, I’ve
been swimming, and
barely made it back to shore
7-10
I run more when I’m single. I dig holes in my skin
as if something might pupate & emerge
I would like to be more inwardly motivated
so my heart won’t come out black in a rocky
bed. I’m consumed by how much
it doesn’t hurt. Does that mean it hurts?
Lime Rinse
maybe I never
in the first place
jelly down a sea of me
me me me
me as I changed
into me again
over and over
over? it continues
through sleep
I am pulled down
tighter, so that you
can be stitched up
I am upside down to you
therefore, to me
