when you feel it slipping like quick bar soap
you're butterflying in egg whites
and you'd rather sleep through the slime
than stand up bow-legged
when your stomach aches in hand signs
that spell out K- A- R- M- A
you're drinking down a processed tonic
and you're hoping you can still howl
along to Elliot into the wind
when you're hanging upside down
with your wrists tied in satin
and you're feeling slightly paralyzed
in fleshy memory and fleeting decisions
were your dreams just fantasies
or were you just ears open to your stories in the waking
and now you're there
in spaces where ghosts used to sit
and you took down their message with metallic tones
you recorded your future
through 8/16th jimbay notes to yourself
stuffed in corrugated rectangles
you posted reminders of what chances
would reveal moldy gardens
puncture holes in your palm
and circles bent to fit excuses
No comments:
Post a Comment