Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, Untitled. Fused silk. Photograph by Kevin Ryan.
Courtesy of the Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick Foundation.
I think I may be a hikikomori
Watching the sunrise, set, rainfall, the cars roll
Bye!
Like a snake never shedding its skin
Devouring its own tail sinew by sinew
Salon talk made me shave my head
Off
Sometimes I want the trees to use me
Wear me like a dead soldiers dream
No more parabens, sulfate, silicone
Formaldehyde
Sometimes I walk by a stagnant ditch
And see something, a reflection, an inkling
Far past recovery, far past retrieving
Circles form around my eyes
My hands swell around my rings
Frozen as the spiders
crawl toward my ears
Blabbing about front-page news
I want out
to go
rest in peace
But can’t ever get away from
The crowd, impassionate movement
Glass half-dead
The Brave Sun circles ‘round my head
Telling me I’m a cycle, a dot in a segment
A knot on a log soon to be picked off
revealing nothing
But the liquid under my skin boiling
Over
She flicks me from my stump
Laughing
With knowing that our walls are built with corpses
Flimsy wet houses reeking of rotting detritus
Painted ads chip from walls under her weight
like makeup flaking off dead skin
I watch the vultures picking hearts in the morning
With Splenda rice and pink milk
A bloody birdbath
It should scream like the frog stuck in the window seal shut
I watch still from my window, my breath, my eye
My tears
Red cars, bluebirds, dinosaur
Clouds
And garden gloves, shovels, white fences,
Plastic pots, little flowers plucked
Dead for some lover
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This is part of the cluster Restless Flying. Read the other posts here.
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Laura Creekmore
