now

I look
in the bathtub
turn on cold water
and wriggle my big toe
inside the pipe

I grip the radiator and
let it burn my hand
while my feet
slowly
freeze

little bumps
that hold hair
and pale skin
like jelly donuts
full of blue blood

moisture of my breath clouds
bubbles of cologne
that miss my wrist
chapstick outlines
of crusting lips

I trace the bones:
bumpy little pockets
I love to evict
long lasting
scars

broken pipe
running
the brown outline
of rotting tile
flaking house
into my lungs

I want to stick my fingers
through sidewalk
cracks
and pull myself
up

then
barely blowing
90 candles

the mirror slices off
the curve of my hair

wrinkles
like unclaimed bags

of forgotten people
and

little, late-night worms
circling an airport carousel

now
I lie on my Tempur-Pedic
and my body
melts
into the drying concrete
of a bed

in the morning, light
will poke my eyes
like needles on rewind
detaching arms
from stuffed dolls