waking up is poking a cooked spider with a fork

fistful of condensation,

i wipe up

watch the dark pools dissipate with breath

i don’t know how to balance //

toes up or down

i paint my chest blue

ignore strange advances from a baby

or tiny teen god of how often

& deeply i explicate

there was no contraction of muscle

no vibrational warning

before a small flood down the front

of the three day old couch

assembled with insomnia on my blazer

after i shattered our brand new glasses

trying to get the baby fed

cramcramcramcram new tissue

wet matter into the new comforter

word salad (thoughtless // messy // mayonnaise-y)

playing songs of infant animals eating

to fall asleep feeling warm

boatnecked under nail confusion

the shaved head of my mother

whispers like a threat

into the base of my spine

time passes differently in polyester

inside my heart is hair so thick

it could be fur

always wet + warm

it itches in summer

my chest oozing plasma

before i forget not to scratch