rendered the poet useless i by Brynn Dizackclouds blockading the sun carrying white flags screaming sleepy surrenders i tumbled down out of where i should still be
still
stronger; and she laughs because what's that anyway, stronger... i feel like glass when i'm in front of you; a curious experiment in porcelain, upper lip as stiff as wet concrete my knees turned to down pillows & collapsed lightly down into the soft wall of the smell of ice cream comforted only by the change cup refilling after a night of work and dreaming of california
still alone making paper transfers transluscent chopping her sillhouette into walnut flavored questions [how could we not have seen] [where did it go] [where did it all stop] alergic wishes they were almonds like the slit shapes of annie's eyes & chocolate mahogany like her dresser at home, laced with the grain of woodworking intricate spiderwebs woven in corners in empty heads in beds with two
dents
and only one
body
& how easy it would be to hate you
& how easy it would be to forgive you
& how easy it would be to stop functioning completely & make home in the black, padding out walls to stop violent thrashings ink leaking down the walls in a stream like wine stains glasses fogging up windows with handprints this is the passion i miss & where are her hands & whose hands are these, now
could wear black all the time, could even
never leave the house without straight bangs & what would i give & how will the heat come and how will the heat go & what floor is she living on & what time zone pokes fun at her insomnia from the opposite side of gravity undermining nothing but copper pennies flicking their way[s] into her skull, ten, eleven, thirteen; is she skipping something does anyone care are there scissors are there erasers
erase
erase
erase
i can't breathe i am suffocating on white feather knees & the thick frozen liquid dairy against my throat stuffed full like a roasting chicken or a swollen breast i will expand and expand until i have covered. everything. 05/29/2003 Posted on 05/29/2003 Copyright © 2024 Brynn Dizack
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