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the four-hundred and ninety-first finger

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sometimes

i see Rain in my bedroom,

when the light becomes Bruised and Jaded.

and my eyes are too tired to shut.

pelting the Grey,

leaving Ruts in my irises.

sometimes

traffic Sleeps,

when i’m too late to Matter,

and lawnmowers shave my skull

then track along,

up and down my Spine.

sometimes

i watch the walls Pulse,

arm extended,

pale white and Veined with Envy–

midnight puncture wounds,

shooting up Ink and Seventies Rock hits.

sometimes

i remember my dreams,

while people sit on my chest,

hold my arms–

Liquid-Metal Eyes–

and won’t let me up for air.

sometimes

i speak Volcanoes,

and my Insides are scorched;

while the Walls Whisper,

shooting lies,

Peeling at the Base

sometimes

flowers Grow in the dark,

drinking up moonlight

and Eraser shavings.

they are born Ancient

and look like Hieroglyphs.

sometimes

i am Damned.

textbooks Crook my back

and teeth pile into my Hands.

so i Lock away my Eyes

and write “Yes” on her fingers

as she counts them,

one…

two…

three…

four…

Seventy Times Seven

and now she has none to spare

but,

Sometimes,

i keep writing

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