nocturne

the neighbors upstairs are creating their own
organs & rearranging them. they roll 
stomachs across the wooden floor & hold 
their marbel eyes in their palms.
the world is hard & shatterable. i count
my teeth. in a room with no windows
you can easily convince yourself 
the sun has quit. has the sun quit?
often i live in a world where all my organs
turn into musical intruments but then
there are days i am full of rotting fruit.
a mango in my chest. a march of strawberrys 
up my spine. i fill my veins with neon.
i am a sign blaring only for myself.
what word i am? i think "glass"
or maybe the word "once."
can you tell something is wrong with me?
i can't most days. 
the neighbors are finding happiness 
in the fragments of their bodies. 
when i spin my heart nothing happens.
a rush of dizziness. i lurch.
are teeth an organ yet? will half dollars 
save me? i used to knit. 
i should pick it up again & knit myself
a body bag. slip myself inside
& pretend to be a knife. in the parking lot
behind my apartment i say goodbye 
to the dandelions who are rushing to turn
white. i am telling them 
to not waste their yellowness 
on anyone. boys
are not worth it & neither 
are pigeons. in my room i burn
the face of a daffodil & pretend 
it is my face. i feel the flames spreading.
the smell of a tongue fills the room.
a tongue is the best organ. the neighbors
are laughing. i bet they are
making a mess. i wish i were
making a mess. finger painting
with blood on the hallway. 
no don't worry it's just red paint.
i am not bleeding like that.
it's a slow trickle. a sink left on.
i am laying on the floor 
& looking up at the ceiling until it opens.