Stage Three

Out of all the things I have lost

I miss my mind the most.

 

Out of all the times I have havered

on the verge of plasticky profundity

and then swapped out

my quotidian bleed

for a banal quote

Tonight’s the night

I feel worst about wasting.

It’s your paintbrush I drip from.

It’s your halfsmile I am tasting.

 

Of all the times I let go too soon

because I could not stop being me

Today’s the first I honestly wish

I could stop being me

 

Even at the cost of some poor sod

Having to audition for my role

Having to consciously unlearn

everything they understand

about body language

and to miss a thousand social cues

and to drop a million plates that are

microwave-safe but not

tested for gravity.

 

I don’t even care if they throw up

in their mouth and basically

quit the whole life-

swapping business for good.

 

I would wear the face and

wear the life and I would

run to you. In a heartbeat

I would run to you.

 

I would not care

if my stubby otherperson legs

refused to carry

my swollen head

I would not care if you didn’t want me

in your public library

or your personal shed

 

It would be enough, it would be enough

To press my nose on your window,

see you pull froth

from the surface

of a watercolor sea

to see you toss your hair back

and lament the ruining

of yet another artwork

at stage three.

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One comment

  1. R · April 22

    “To press my nose on your window,

    see you pull froth

    from the surface

    of a watercolor sea”

    Love this!

    Like

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