notes from a waking

the new disease down the hall. the wall professor and his student. heavy shoes three doors below. misspelled words from wrongful fingers. volume control. the lower electricity of a song itself ready for a fight. the future stresses like hair relaxers. tension deficits. trading places with god for a few minutes. still, there is only so much you can handle. less of it that you’re willing to long for.

these all day events will mean nothing later.

a cigarette between her fingers comes trailing smoke although she is not a smoker. she says I know you love me. you hand some flame to the spot where blood meets air. you hiss at notions. pinprick your left arm. this is what it was like to be made. some watched blood leaving. needles are for going in and out.

when did you get old.

a slip then. a sleight of hand. blood runs down your arm as if it were someone else. you smell distance closing. a ventilation product. blood is a singular word and it’s out for a walk. you’ve got a crush on your own reds.

no, leave it there, I like the way it looks against my skin.