Callous

In the lock box of sleep,
Anxiety rattles, a bullet
In a hollow panel, rough and stained,
Splinters like fiber, glass
Hastily swept into a filmy volume
Aching for the predawn

I scheme for a premature flight
Inside metal warped, commercialized
I feel the pinching of my disk
Nothing remains the same when
I'm alone
I see flesh on skin-
Never mind

My skull is woozy
I was turned over-easy
Unscrewed like a rotten egg
And surreptitiously scrapped
This life scampers parallel
Scribbling circles like years

I run without purpose
Even suckling life, I despair
A dirty kitchen for private tears
We twirl stupidly in place,
Casting a transparent line
Hope is a noun

As I observe waste and sloth and
In spite of myself, my cynicism
Becomes ingrained
I will train for endurance
Feminist that I am
For the primary purpose of validation

In silky sea salt
My eyes are feverish, loss-glazed
Full of rage and peering
Through uncelebrated expectation
We are carbon, emotion
And little else