Wednesday, June 15, 2016

EMPIRES FOR EYELIDS

Okay—you say out loud, I see it
now: your body's a filthy
little room that you're doomed to understand 

too well, because you've been puttering 
around inside it for ages 
now. You know the exact placement 

and relish the impalpable 
smell of every stained stick and nicked 
up corner of its furniture so well

that you never even think of them 
as being there at all—which is why
you also never think to clean 

underneath them anymore. And even 
when making the least consequential 
of decisions, no matter where you are, 

you cannot help but perfectly 
picture the dim color of its 
walls and the precise way they make

your sickened voice reverberate
whenever your ears 
hear it say—okay.

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