nothing hurts when i sleep, but in waking i glare at the mirror and want to shatter
everything breakable in the room, that is
the mirror the glass over the picture the perfume bottle the teacups on the bookshelves the
rocking chair the cartilage in my hand against the ground
once again, they go as far from themselves as possible.
AND EVEN GOD OH YES EVEN GOD OH GETS SAD AND LONELY AT NIGHT SO
CAN YOU FORGIVE ME CAN YOU FORGIVE ME
palms pressed on clean cotton sheets,
she arches like a shooting star:
her spine cracks,
not all at once like the snap of a bone,
but like a branch
breaking under the weight of snow.
sleep rises up again like the tide.