I studied my imperfections
Up close in the bathtub faucet
Then I leaned back and dreamed of
How divine it would feel to be
Marat
dead
The music
penetrates my frame
it’s suicidal

Pen in hand
Halo above my head
still
In a solitary paradise
I rock to sleep
with every note I’ve ever heard
Regenerating sensation
into this tired shell

Poke me
Have I drowned in this stupor
Float and tumble
Have I fallen already
And no one has told me
Blink the veins out of
dry eyes
Amplified by the intensity
of nerves
Shaken not broken
Pulses not spasms

I cannot resist
my madness.
It is so sweet
and soothing.

--Amy Solomon