TOSS, TURN
& when i awoke, i found this fully composed on the bed:
it’s friday evening. i am w/ghosts & they’re morphing
into morphine scenes, the color in off-white walls.
several times i forget which of them is speaking
& which storyline they expect that i’m keeping. i’m dreaming.
i’m peeling off in layers on the ceiling. the seasick queen
waves to the feelings i’m seeing. they’re not talking anymore.
so i check the windows, check the door. i light the stove for warmth
& wait there for hours, thinking of the songbirds i’ve stifled.
the flowers i’ve grown & admired, petals sharp like a rifle.
so weird. now i’m going out into the sunlight for coffee & photographs. distractions, you know… everything is.
