My ears are a polaroid
A snapshot of distraction
A screen porch on a warm night
The sound tastes bitter,
Like something that caught you by surprise
Elon is a horse
I hate the horses in Goshen
The living room is soft rust
Bella’s crying, but we can’t figure out why
She wants to sink through the ceiling
But trips on the Milky Way instead
The repetitive Buddha is there again
Talking to someone in a voice I can’t hear
I long to be a spotted zebra
Like the ones that don’t exist
I love the horses in Goshen
Riding the wind like Icarus
The wind falls and I fall with it
Why do sounds swim better than they run?
פה סגור בבקשה
They hate when I say that
But what can I do?
The polaroids are still there
As if they’re nailed into my brain
I long to be a spotted zebra
Or trapped in another book
Grey light, black ink.
The carpet under my feet
The smell of dead chickens
And no sound at all
I uncover a mine of eggshells