Spilled Ink

theoforx:

FOCUS LENS

I am working
at my mind.

applying figures
to my eyelids.

I will understand
A to B as a line.

until my ears are
gone, fully gone.

my water is full
my belly is.

my spine contorts
my collarbone.

my jaw is pouting
and oozing.

caffeine instead
of agglutination.

your lips, my tummy,
hair’s sheen, elbow. 

we speak a different language,
I know a few words.

I know how to raise your eyeglasses
and kiss your nose-tip.

I know how to pet back my hair
and make a terse joke, a gesture.

intestines ashamed
bile floating. 

separated thoughts
are indistinguishable.

mathematics are
cloudy-headed.

my academic manuals
are dusty on purchase.

my eyes are frozen
with, again, dust.

my reckoning is
anticlimactic.

I have replaced jokes
with square looks.

the novel is boring,
the streets covered with glass.

someone has been
stealing our mail.