Category: poetry

next message


“Hey, was that you 

in my closet last night?

 

It must have been a sight,

to watch me wake

so restless and captive, 

wagging my eyes in a panicked search

to find the sliding door

was open,

the space beyond 

dense and dark

as if occupied,

knowing to move or stir

would be to die”

you have 666 new voice messages

message 1

“hey, this is Brad from unit 4c calling again,

yeah, I’m just following up on my last message about the


fissure


that opened up 
above my bed,

it’s gotten pretty persistent…

there’s this

droning? or warbling, of a fever pitch
and it’s really starting to upset my cat…

It’s not loud or bright,

but for the past few nights,

my mirrors have been breaking— 
not the glass, just, 

the reflections are wrong?

And I have no idea how long they’ve been that way,

so I have no idea how long its been

since I have seen myself 
or known myself…

Did the previous tenant ever mention anything about this?

I’m having trouble remembering 
where the exit is,

or how to play guitar, 

or if I ever even liked the color green,

and when I go to sleep sometimes I, like, gaze into the rift
and it 

blinks 

at me,

like there’s something looking back,

or someone 
looking back,

or I’m looking up at myself looking down at myself, but 

I’m not where I ought to be. 

Also, the kitchen faucet is leaking again, so…

Call me back, peace”