We can Rebuild him
Message from the future
I am the rebirth of humpty dumpty
After they put him back together
Anyhow
Even after they could not
And so imagine the staples, the tape, and suffering
I place my palms against either side
Of my skull and press
Because the parts keep coming loose
As I walk along the ridge
Of the tall stone wall
That could be someday I shout
At a wooden cog of my amygdala
Just trampled by hooves of
What must be all the king’s horses
Has fallen from the hatch-work
And the missing
The missing parts
Follow me, like
Words in a line
In a trail, small as ants
Behind me after
Each forsaken step
And as I turn and bend
Against the will of my
Rigid bones, to
Reach for what looks like
The pinion of my pineal gland
I hear a crisp and expected
Drop of another part
Like the white bulb that hits
The xylophone step
And it’s another vital sound
And it’s all that much harder to
Turn again to pick it, I pray
Never to drop a hand or the
Gear for writing, or for crying
Months ago, I maybe wrote
A letter for a lost lever
That when pulled would start
A weight for my remembering
To fold blanket below bed to
turn off lights and stove, to
Walk one at a time upon the wall
But letter lost, and lever too
Disappear, the muscle for
Sad will swell, the
Gear turn, the whole
Leave itself behind
The cog it open
The cog it break away
Nothing stay same
Nothing after
Great fall
Feel same
Comatose-Familiar
I Dreamt
My speakers in disarray
As I tried to urinate, drunk
In a thin dim red room
Where the door slid down shut
Like an abandoned elevator
Without my even hearing it
And the door knocked and I said
Just a minute please
But my pants couldn’t make it past
my piss-stained drunk knees
And the painted-over bricks of the room
Felt so real, that I’d imagine living
In that room for ages, as art
And the madness I would feel
And how I’d see colors
Against the painted-over porous walls
And sometime in there it occurred
That this strange place was my home
And that beyond the aftermath of bodies
Resting on the floor of the morning in the house
–beyond that, I had nowhere else to go
I tip-toed over them, searching for
The familiar
Or the chance to nudge some
One awake by the clumsy
Steps of my hang-over.
I giggled and sang:
All the sleepy people:
Where do they all belong?
I roamed in the beaten, tired light
Of early day, the abused and
Unready hints of color on the floor
Of stained clothes and blue skin
Around closed eyes, while I stumbled
Now in my underwear, the only
To survive an apocalypse
Of familiar but far away things