atmosphere interfered
in the space between
soles and soul
leaving a balloon
head floating and filled
in the depths of a roaring
pressure sea
while waiting for a hot dog and a drink at Sonic
so loud
barely could hear the doctor speak
on the phone only
laughter bubbling inside and out
sparking with happy crystal
fear
and the wind-up toys
behind the dash of the
car scraping to get out
Jacob the doctor
said are you safe do not drive stay where you are call your husband, oh, and take more medicine
in a somnambulistic state
later dragging all the old bed linens out
taking pictures
sending the pictures to everyone
begging them all to take away the tired
comfortable fabric
where it might rest in peace on someone's
unfortunate bed, because it deserved
greater respect than the attic was
providing
cleansing all of it, twice
heavy duty, soak, softener cycle
the chugging of the washing machine
pulling forward
to the same place again
5
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Certain disorders lend themselves to poetics.
This story has no tags.
I can't quite connect them
but like the dots.
Painfully vivid.*
Hi, Gary. Thanks for reading. I tried this using first person and it felt like a kooky monologue, which may be what it continues as. Anyway, glad the dots were fun.
Bursts of image, touch, sense and sound. Flash poetry. *
*
I love this. If it were my poem I'd omit the last line and end it at "pulling forward". But that is just me. And this is really good.