I don’t trust
myself on those
on-ramps,
all stilted
and looming.
I’m always eyes
on the edge,
counting pores
in concrete.
How cold
is that water
is that air
kissing this
skin with burn
and brackish.
Dizzying, always
thinking about
driving off.
Would those
pores hold?
or snap
from their
hollowed gut.
In my dreams my knees cave
to ashes. When awake my hip
aches with uneven rhythms.
The knuckles of my spine
grind and give. My bottom lip
cracks like the pale bark
of trees in winter–chapped
skin the same shade of anemic
leaves. In my dreams I am
enveloped in the arms of another,
cradled and warm. Left in
thorn thickets on sides
of highways and I dream
of sleeping.
but I don’t sleep.
initially written in November 2011. rewritten/ revised/ expanded 15 October 2012.
In my dreams my knees
cave to ashes. The knuckles
of my spine grind and give.
My bottom lip cracks like
the pale bark of trees in
winter.
but I don’t sleep.
written November 2011.
