Bonaduces A Separate Lid Behind Closed Eyes
Here's the hard part: when there are no plugs to pull,
visitors are ushered back to their vehicles, and an
endless crescendo of unvoiced cries manipulate the
silence of hospitals at night. And indistinct wishes made
on my behalf are rationed and assigned to specific tasks,
like staving off nightmares, dismissing random pains or
petitioning disaster to increase its pace. I've found a
space between consciousness and dream to invent a life
inside. A stack of photos; a handmade shelf: mysterious
and foreign relics of health. Wilted flowers strain to
scent the room. I don't need flowers. I just need you.
I've found a space between consciousness and dream to
invent a life inside. I feel the building pulling up its
roots, seceding from the world I knew and a separate lid
behind closed eyes reacts to this and opens wide. Staff
pours out from stiffening walls, their clipboards ripe
with protocol for static hearts and absent sounds. The
script is all in pencil now, so take me home. Burst
through these doors. I'm uninsured and I'm sure I'm sure
I can't stay anymore.
