Sunday, April 28, 2013

npm: 27


04/27:

Slow motion field day
surgeries
old loves and
miles of water.
I wake up swimming,
my arms slicing the air and
legs swinging sheets by snow angel's hush.
Or
I come to on the bathroom floor
again
towel for pillow, my nausea stretched
from here to Alaska,
strand of molasses that keeps me
below sea level.

Backstage
broken legs
arms full of oranges
I come to with half-moon marks
in palm beds,
left fist still locked shut;
I wake up to find the bookshelf
bending down to view me.
Guns
mannequins
tooth parade in the china cabinet
the body on its own
being wild,
skeleton in a Buick
come to laughing,
wake up mid-sentence.

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