narrowing

i found myself in the sliver of gold
between finger nail & skin. there is a 
a crawlspace underneath my parent's house
where the ghosts of cats are pressed down flat.
how thin can your night make you? i lay down
in front of a giant turning wheel
& threaten myself with less dimensions.
how do you know the solar system
isn't planning a fresh conspiracy tomorrow?
even my wrists whisper about me. i tell my dog
to go back to sleep & not worry about
the storm clouds forming above the bed.
grey deepens to black, the rain: purple 
& staining skin. i have all kinds of smudges 
across my body leftover from getting 
on my hands & knees & slipping beneath
the hood of the car. most stains
are perminant. i buy several extra shirts
incase this one gets destoryed. you can protect
very little in your life. everyone 
is thinner than the last time you saw them.
everyone is slicing oranges into slender medallions.
take circles & make lily pads. take a sheet of paper
& fold a raft to get you home. a crease
is where a life is born. mine was folded so tight
i scraped myself on entrance. a bee
flies out of a key hole. a girl opens
the fly of her pants & a centipede emerges.
it's all about waiting for the right moment 
to break the surface. a pike rests
with gnarled teeth just waiting 
for a wandering bluegill. you call me
in the middle of the night
& tell me something is squeezing you
so tight you can't see anything,
just a slit of light. i tell you 
to give in. we both wake up
on separate coasts as dried apricots.
the sun is always making excuses
but here we are as it slurps 
our sweetness. i just want a straw
shoved down my throat. i just want
to feed hummingbirds with my saddness.
that is not a humming bird though
that is a mosquito but then again
a body is a body. each full of light.
a rolling pin makes a painting
of all of us sitting in the living room
scrolling on our phones. there's nothing wrong
with turning your brain into a colander. 
all those holes to slip light through.