(no subject)

Jul 21, 2009 17:08

It is between the neck and chest, grown so big I can barely swallow. 
It is a specimen of coincidence.
It has outgrown my voice.
The almond eye of the Venn obstruction, it shrinks as physiology and affect float apart, wanting to disown their intersection
I too want to spit it out.

It is the moment after the elbow meets the table corner, before the acceptance of pain.
It is the thoughtlessly rejected oil on the surface of soup refrigerated since last Sunday.
I too do not want to absorb re-heated absurdity.

It is the banal dreamcatcher that pulls me up and out of bed by my hair when it is dark.
It falls on my face every morning.
I scramble to tease its cobwebs out of my eyelashes.

It waits for me to curse as I throw it into the corner and shudder it off, trailing strands.
It has made me weak.

My arms and then my lips give out when I try to hold its grudges,
So I watch them drop like bombs.

Mercury balls scamper under the rug, quick and aimless.
The daze settles yellow clouds on the afternoon.
I too was born of broken glass that was never whole.

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