swift and short
each pang of light hits
sometimes swinging like a pendulum to my temple
other times the wall above me,

where I can look up and see the little dust mites
as they pay no hindrance to the spotlight shed on them.

I wish I could better predict
which days the light swaddles my knees
almost soft and easy to step around

which days I am mutinied by my own heart
as it squeezes in on itself and tells me to go ahead and

suffer the effects of radiated beams
the tears I shed won’t save me

at best they will lubricate the light
as it seeks to osmosis its way into my brain

finally at last where it can rest all night
while I stare at the the ceiling, the wall, the screen

fully awake.


Talk at me while I eat

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