Atrophy

I can’t breathe.

The day leaks, dripping 

forehead to nose, nose to shoes.

The day leaks, dripping

frontal cortex to heart, heart to stomach pit.

 

I won’t remember,

That Citizenship certificate

or the drawing of the horse

that wasn’t a horse.

Frozen, stock still, day comes, night comes.

 

I can’t breathe.

The world races, spiraling

But that’s not right, not real.

The world races, slipping

making room for the next big thing.

Reviews

[Lisasview]

Oh boy, been awhile since I read one of yours and of course came across this one. So full of fabulous metaphors.
Not sure if you meant them or not but I see them.
For some reason I found this disturbing, but not in a bad way... just a thinking way. Your poem moved along quickly and quite smoothly.
My first thoughts were... oh well, I don't actually think it ,matters...only to say i throughly enjoyed it and am glad to be back reading some of your words.
Lisa, still in Spain

[Crowley]

Hey! Thanks for reading. Feeling a little dark last night so decide to slip something out. Thanks so much, glad to hear from you!!

Corey
Still in Phoenix!

[Lisasview]

Ha ha Corey...
I am from So.California...on the beach near Santa Barbara and now in Spain

[Neville]

if you don't mind me saying this is brill, then this is brill my friend and no kiddin .. and just like the world itself, there ae so many possibilities, yet it is getting smaller and smaller, in a BIG way, if you catch my drift .. Neville :)

[Crowley]

I do. In a bit of a mood when I wrote this. Thanks Neville, great to see you!

[Neville]

and you too sir .. 🐧