compulsion

     

my name is not safe anymore
but a sound that causes my selves
to
                               panic

we open
and unopen
the door

the lock is slick under my fingers

the shutter
                     stop

    counting violet breaths

under my breath

they change to grey and gold
           and enter the sunlight easily

which answers the question of tomorrow

rites of passage
my words placed carefully on a page

i lie with my hair in my hand on Tuesdays
           and under a pillow on Friday

my freckles are wrinkled
i hear your feet inside the wall
the refrigerator turns on and sleep comes for me

rituals of safety
carefully disorganized
for the casual eye

the hunger passing sense
becoming lightness
                     a permission to cut dinner in one hundred pieces
the last bite with closed eyes

the headache throbs
waiting
           traveling around my skull

waiting

for me to put down the pencil
and let him in

there is a poem in every third breath
a sonnet, a song

but i cannot hear them past the white light

my brain is devouring itself
in one hundred pieces

                               i dare not close my eyes