I bite my tongue discreetly
am I dreaming
or is it the world that sleeps?
Melting, miming I exorcise
the eidolon from its tattered nest.
I crawl to the surface
is this how we are intended to live
crossing and recrossing
our vestigial limbs?
I throw my ego
to the mad women
lining my kitchen drawer,
to the silent corrosion of my blood
as it splatters over skeins of flesh.
A moan slips past our shackled lips.
This is how we say goodbye,
all we ever do is say goodbye.
In addition to The New Yorker I have submitted to 4 other poetry magazines Neon, Word Riot, FIELDS, and The Baltimore Review. I imagine it will be many months before I receive my verdicts.