pineapple psychosis

sometimes it's pleasant to be elsewhere.
a soft needle in my arm tells me 
i am a catapult if i need to be. the bathroom
is sewn with ants & a centipede is playing cards
with the spider. often a voice will tell me
& i'll say "i don't think i can." 
shoes in my closet like latent children.
pineapples in their cages. thick feathers.
bird's nest soup for dinner. only one fork
& it's learning how to swim backstroke.
a man used to put his open hand on my back
& i'd have to shoo him away. no no not here.
not while the ceiling tiles are playing bingo.
sitting at the dining room table & across from me
the grandfather clock purses his lips. i live
far too not-alone. counting my fingers to be sure.
my alarm, a little dead bird saying
"wake up wake up." shadows forming
a brotherhood. i cover my eyes & my vision
is maroon. a sack of marbles is always also
a school of eyes. blinking the sound away.
seeing a haunting basil taste. taking my shoes off
one by one & laying down to rest. barking 
corridor. no one hear what i hear, do they?
i plug a speaker under my tongue & all that plays
is leaves rustling. i never meant to be
the television insided the television. 
take a knife to parse the nowheres from
dirt. a tree squeals. my room fits in 
my wallet. carry myself to the sidewalk.
bus passes me like a whale. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.