Thursday, February 14, 2008

Evening Prayer

I have been wrestling with my mind for 36 hours.
Each time I try to tap out I get dragged up by my feet,
and thrown back down again.
He is like a Tazmanian Devil, swirling, electric.

My head bobs in my corner as I nurse my own swollen eyes.
The bell rings (the dread!)--
I get sucked back into the eddy, looking for a hole.
He leads leads me in as if I were a kitten,

pawing at a ball of yarn.
I shoot and he yanks back with glee,
palming my head and driving my face into the mat like a basketball,
his mouth dribbling, my brain rattling inside my skull.

He sits on my neck and takes a rest (a second, no less).
I feel the ringworm squirming against my temple
as I listen to the blood
rushing to the bulbous cauliflower roots
spreading throughout my eardrum,

and watch the clock, waiting for the bell, hoping
the hand will not retreat.

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