Living for the weekend makes for a dead week.
I lurch and peel and preen to stay afloat,
Asleep on my feet, my eyes water,
My bright stripes bleed and blur.
The train sways beneath me – a lullaby, a dirge;
Flick, flick, flicker – I see a staccato of lights
Through the skin of my lids.
My eyes snap open – I catch my reflection
In the next car flying, following, veering, soaring.
Sacrifice more (you say), but I’ve already
Optioned my soul Eat Me,
Drink Me – I do not grow, cannot,
I only deflate, shrivel, shrink, sublimate …