your open eye
the slope of white descend
and blind, the slap
of your gloss surface,
felt it press on my illness
levitate above my fixed
sight, the top of a box
the ways we bled
a glass of lucid
another glass
and then the end
will this be one of those nights
operatic in my head
the lamp-lit sun speeding round
the catatonic
fixed
just little trickles
between the stitches
the round burns
and this -- understudy
to the abyss
your watery wink
O death
the depth,
the anchor sinks
beneath the weight of wave
heaviness oceanic,
I get lost
when I go under
the wreck
the wrack of self
a magnitude that sharks
plow through
uneaten
to the surface, nibbling the edges
of the unconscious
all along I hid
within an upper floor
within a room
a single bed
cheese squares in the fridge
a cup of pills
a man in scrubs
a host of diagnoses dressed
in paper gowns,
this is where
I live
By Reka Jellema & Jennifer Savage
Copyright April 24, 2015