swirl of anonymity

Run on.

early morning sweat startles me from the driftwood i would call "sleep" if i ever got used to the way it dissolves like the thundercloud cream that puffs in the coffee like deserts i drink to keep eyes open emails i get from ex-boyfriends like headaches i can't scrub when i'm comatose in the tub i can't sit in long enough for steam to rise a drug into my head drenched in luke-warm new jersey air of a crooked park bench on an evergreen lawn trimmed unreal poetry i can't write about happy children as white as my knuckles when palms bleed the screams from my mother become my own pleas at age 50 when men that have left me are picketfence tallies in notebooks blank as the men that have loved me are recurrent dreams in the driftwood i'll tell myself is somehow sleep

posted by swirl of anonymity @ 12:14 PM