I’m always lurching towards the next
big thing, with eyes like doorknobs
and a mouth like a neat pink ribbon.
I dream that I’m fainting, falling
to the hardwood floor. The ocean spills
out of my mouth and my limbs go numb.
I reach out to the orange coils on the stove,
retreat. Repeat. Water raises up to the surface
of my skin and I let it out with a pin.
I am a well. I keep tiny smokestacks
in a gold coinpurse. I light them
when I think I’m almost there.
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