181.

in a moment you find yourself suspended
in time like fossilized amber, hanging in paralysis between
staying in bed or facing the daylight
and you know there will be joker smiles waiting outside
your door to ask how you feel and what your name is,
but your throat has run sandpaper dry already

you are blank and space bar blinking, waiting
to stop shaking and put your icy feet on the linoleum
curled back into yourself like a dying plant, and you are
beginning to suspect that today
will not be one of your Good Days
you suspect that your loved ones might have to call the doctors again
that your fists might harden to concrete and your brain
might turn back into a bell jar full of frantic and frightened wasps

sour yellow light is seeping through your drawn curtains
and you are wrapped in scratched blankets, waiting
years for the moment when you are brave
or stupid enough to go outside

Jet Lag

I am at some sort of loss now, buckled and broken
over my own knee and nose
to the concrete,
scabbed fingers searching my skin
for something to soothe, I went five days
without sleeping or exhaling, five days
crunched up into my boots with a red peel-painted smile
and I have been on bed rest for two days but I still cannot breathe

and suddenly it is time to turn out the light
but I am too head-to-toe bloodshot and busted to sink
all the way into this sagging bed,
and my fingers have not stopped shaking since two
Wednesdays ago

all I have waiting for me tomorrow morning
is a chorus of congratulations that will slide over me like honey
on an open wound, and I will have to breathe through my splintered shins
and conjure up a crooked Thank You, and convince my knuckles to stand still
as someone reaches over to shake my hand

but I will still be coughing up smog from the bay, still
dizzy and drunk from basking in florescent lights
for a week straight, and I have missed home, have been
shoved into airplanes and taxi cabs and I have been told to smile
through my grinding teeth, and I cannot unclench my muscles enough
to fall asleep tonight

and I am full to bursting with tears too tired to find my cheeks
blood too tired to find my fingers, a heart too tired to keep pumping
hour after hour after stretching and breaking
and drowning and drenched in the ache of isolation

I am at some sort of loss, forgetting
what I am supposed to feel
working my jaw for no sound to come out
it has been too long a week for counting days, and I am
ready to throw in whatever towels I have left