By AJ M
I stay around for too long again
I listen to the same song
I think the same scene
ripe and real for adaptation
till it gets too old and rotten.
Floating eyes encircle the
cerebral barge
like pigeons.
I’m a performer spinning plates,
or handling rings from limb to limb.
I disappear in the whir.
I am dancing again to the same melody,
recollecting a broken mirror’s piece
obsessing over the movement, what was said,
the same words telling me about death
hushing me into a liquor-and-panic-induced coma.
My eyes open in terror:
Oh no, another day.