there is no way out of the mind
lest we are thrown from it –
dangle down like rapunzels or drool.
i watch for what my windows breed –
the fluid grocery bag, occasional gulls,
a million flies (as if i’d died) and rain,
so much rain i could drown up here.
okay, my windows are eyes,
i have brained the apartment –
shreds on the walls, i plastered
mementos to replace memory.
there is a way out of the wind –
when we close the eyes
and demand an image of fields
unmoving in a dustbowl heat.
the windows flex in storm,
i sleep thinking of my skin
filled with glass shards –
of small ones finding my heart.
no, my eyes are windows
and constantly drawn shades
discourage the passersby
from seeing my arrangements.
a way out of the mind?
there are ways: shot like a bullet,
hung here upside down and dizzy,
the world below my eyes –
my ankle slipping through
sweaty fingers of time.
here where i fall, is this not heaven?
oh, was this not a window shut,
a door opened?