Saturday, June 14, 2008

on the toilet
and my quite mind and morning eyes taking note of my languid arm
lying there across my thighs
it is dead and grotesque 
a freakish arm of a famine victim in a photograph in a far away land

it cannot be of my body
i do not feel it there
with its long, light- black hairs
patterned, sweeped in the same direction like grass on a hillside after a rain

and some white residue like salt stains on winter sidewalks
and the grayish looking rises that hint of the mess all below, inside

but it's the length, the proportions
it's too long, like a section was spliced in

i wipe myself and flush the toilet
and my mind gets sharper
as it will as i awake further
and go have a day

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