we offer you this bag, good sir,
simply slit ‘er open
and find your eyesight broken
a trickle of dust on my upper arm. It spreads slowly, steadily.
It reaches my elbow.
Consults its compass
Sliding along the rivers of my obtrusive veins, downward, until
My wrist is reached
And then my wrist opens
And in slides the dust. Down into my hand Seep into fingertips Compromise blood cells.
Then back up my arm wrap around my neck suffocate my skull drop into my heart fill up my lungs plunge into my stomach engorge every inch of intestine.
Which leg to take?
It chooses right
And a dust drip fills me up
a dust drip weighs me down
a dust drip lays me on the ground
Then I knit myself together at the wrist and pretend to find the will to move
Ohnosotired. These legs just aren’t worth the effort.
Close my eyes with choked retinas
Cough the slight tickle in my throat away.
Dear tongue, learn better to control yourself.
Later men come with knives and scalpels and promise to open me up and drain me out.
To cut my wrist and stab my arm and poke my heart and pump some new blood
Into my dusty frame.
But then I heard the news.
You just can’t have a body of dust mixed with a body of blood.
Consult the compass
Do we take this illusion? It works. We don’t move. We don’t think. We don’t even feel
that dust being pumped all inside.
But look at us! We’ve got this dust, see it drip?
it could coat a thousand books
Then think of all the knowledge we could cover!
All the time we could waste!
All the history we could smother!
But look at us! We’ve got this dust, see it drip—wait
I thought I sewed that up?
Suddenly I’m frightened about this dust, about this wrist, and the way that drip
gives the illusion
of never quitting.
When I woke I was cold.
When I arose (I arose!) i was thrilled to see my skin was made of bark.
Just look at all this bark! (I thought). We can do things with this. We’re going places!
This illusion isn’t fading.
Just look at that wrist! There isn’t a drippy-damn-drop of dust in that stitch!