July the ninth

...or maybe I was just dreaming they were drilling holes through my head, and the whole city came dripping into me, sullen and fast and shrieking like sirens, with noises that flashed into moving colors, was it New York filling my heart with throbs and pains, sweet needles full of cloudrain?

maybe I was that tree they tried to fell, stretching my boughs into the ceiling that looked like styrofoam, reaching out for liquid help, while silent ventilators hurried their secrets through the vents, and the smells reminded me of the grassy meadow I had fed and fed from.

or was it the smooth caress of the wind in my leaves that closed my lids into some numb comfort, as the arteries thickened solid and fragile like skinny twigs, folding my grasp onto crispy memories of times past of embraces and grips?

until my unheard inside screamed for the blade to release me...

sept 2007