too lethargic for company,
i populate with casual impulses.
the eyelids skid down
shying from dust or sun,
the swallowing muscles have snagged
and only work half-way.
my mouth releases steam and relaxes
the lower mandible to something reptilian,
something about ingesting the sun...
become sterile in the rain-
can't desire a thing.
but i've been
whelped, grown, dead, again today. no different.
that the hour leaps and ends like a flea
makes me certain time is waste.
i must've watched it,
we hadn't done anything
not in weeks, not spoken and meant a word.
no time, i guess.
no-time disguises in dreamt television
calls for unity in constant moderate
discourse and slyly punctuated emergency!
this is a mother who hands panic to her child
as surely as she does a glass of milk.
still, what could i know,
asleep with my eyes peeled.
© Copyright 2016 Caroline Michaud. All rights reserved.