I speed through tunnels of darkness the way
dead water glides up a poland spring bottle.
day in and day out i am marked by this
grim business of waking up,
someone invisible presses his sore,
fumy mist of a thumb onto my forehead
and my eyes roll open like a slot machine.
i say ding-ding-ding! it is october 6th,
6:52 am and god you've got the wrong person.
my chest has always been a sick knot,
each day my hair rises like a dog in heat
and my stomach is a blanket of muscle
tumbling oceans of grease. yesterday i was born with
a mouth made of stucco, it should not part like
a broken dish. that sort of thing invites a
kind of hunger and in these efforts
to establish the lay of the law
i down letters that start like this:
dear lungs
or
lung 1 and lung 2
you should have a curfew.
so i ban you from all oxygen bars,
from fistfuls of air or releasing such
gifts to read about oranges and virginia
hamilton adair. but who am i kidding?
blue at the face and these old pumps
would still murmur.
what i would like to say
is that i should like to lay flat,
thin on this bed,
trampled by night cattle where my arms
and legs are mangled in all directions
like a swastika.
when i trod down the hallway complete with slippers and
bathrobe i'd like to hear the bell boy at the
elevator stand say
the costume party's that-a-way.