Free Verse and Dysautonomia
Missing Time
like Plato sinking with Atlantis
Etching and the sound of nails to brine lurching, seeded in the lights minutes, an hour, two, or three… question the reliquary of my thoughts on the floor alone bent and wrong a thumb both feet the chest my eye then the numbness like Plato sinking with Atlantis fingertips scuffed, blood, the stained glass of a lamp impaled like tattoos broaching the shoreline of this floor painting fallen upside shoe tchotchkes my hair in coils and doubloons, the air hot in my sinuses dust and buried lights in motion and such parch to parry memory in melee with a blow from the now.
