wolf nails

 

there is a rabbit

hole in a black

mirror in the

palm of a hand

i dutifully fall in

to like a feather

anchor.

an anodyne

dancer in a

pendulum

free fall of

sedated

descent. at

eve in an eden

an atom eating

a weaponized

apple blinks in

and out of

existence,

a light turned

on and then off

again. a dented

tin can of off-

brand

vegetable soup.

a microwaved

attention tuned

to the shadows

between

infrared and

ultra violet. a

voice calls out

in a distant

void. it enters

the cave like

an emaciated

grizzly bear

and echoes off

the walls in a

vain attempt to

alarm me.

i hardly notice,

neck deep in

the shallow

end of the

electro-

magnetic

wave pool.

a voice again,

but this time a

wet circuit’s

hum on the

tissue paper

wings of some

half cent insect,

the guardian

between worlds.

a stir of

white noise

whisperings

gives way to

the swell of an

orchestra tuning

before becoming

a breaking news

story about the

intense and

abject pain of

my shitty posture.

according to the

anchor at

the scene, it

seems, if i’m

hearing her

correctly, i’ve hit

the rocks at

the bottom of

my rabbit hole

and landed like

a broken half

open folding

chair tossed

into a

dumpster full

with deflated

party balloons

and die hard

video cassette

tapes. the hurt

registers first

a slow drip

from a loose

faucet. then, a

downpour the

weatherman

failed to

mention. i

consider moving,

continue to

marvel the

shadows

as the bottom

falls away, a

ledge. when i

surface for air

on a

subsequent

precipice, my

will grabs hold

my intent like

a mother does

the hand of a

child crossing

the street too

slowly, pulls

me to my

senses. my

urgency

awakens to a

nearby howling.

i decide to

gnaw threw my

ankle, leave my

foot in the

shackle, and

get the fuck out

of this cave.

wolf nails

click across

cold linoleum.