I let it creep up
the sage-throated walls
and roost
While the body crawls
out of the room.
The kitchen walls whisper
about spoiled milk
and trying again.
Cry about it!
The body snaps,
seizing a fistful
of honey-nuts.
Meanwhile
i’m somewhere
on the ceiling,
picking the whites
out of my eyes.
Passing the thin
pearlescent membrane over
the acne prone face
of the moon.
Metalcore hums
about yellowjackets
and i’m fading out
in a red flannel.
Are people sixty percent
freshwater
or saltwater?
Do they ebb
and flow?
Is the moon tugging
at the seas we carry,
begging for company?
The body takes to
the cold wave
of a canvas.
I quickly learn
that drowning
doesn’t feel
like anything.
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