Not knowing where to put this
heavy glaring sense of time lost
and consciousness frayed and displaced.
Does it belong compressed, in the cavity of the body
or is it meant to be thrown off the top floor of the tallest
building in a small town or into traffic at 3AM on a Monday morning in Chicago's south side.
If released to scuttle about by its own devices a deep sense of drugged calm falls upon me. Appearances.
And so I choose wildness.
A decomposite of play in a changed world.
A bed of dust and recollections.
Stillness and death.
Loneliness like a stillborn product of labor and sweat and blood and heartache.
Sailing numbly and home again.
Bones and bloating
Motionless and frantic and contained, hooked
in a frenetic code.
worn tightly and warm.
Clutching the fabric of images cast by an old projector unplugged and boxed in the basement beneath the holiday shit.
Glitter muppets of plausible caricatures that nod and function and collapse into the sink.