Loopy walks—her
steps drunken after
holding her breath,
sequestering new air
from confused lungs—down
to the park where that annual
desire to roll around in crunchy
red tree hair celebrates
its homecoming, only to be quelled as
Kinda-Loopy
sways
jives
boogaloos
to Dolly's
Tumble outta bed and I stumble to
the kitchen. Pour
Slightly-Loopy just wants her
limbs to not feel as
if they're gelatinous but
bless the
frigid air that snacks
on her fingertips,
stirring Somewhat-Lucid
out of her slumber but
don't get too
comfortable there's still
a hill to conquer
