Broken Camel's Back
dreams flutter in their
ears, eyelids droop and
in the creases i can see
the purpled oceans that
swallowed them up (inside
out). i am pale, unworn as
new sheets, each crinkle a
little sigh, my little song that
sticks to the backs of upturned
postage stamps and x + y + z =
?. theirs are transcribed from
the stains on the undersides of
their bandages: sifted out of
their blood. the noises clicking
over my tongue are clipped by
my lips covered in un-creased
pillow cases; they are frail and
floral and frivolous things. but
wasn't it these trivialities falling
away that peeled back their
skin and left them exposed to
the poison?