Sticking Around for the Next Act



Sticking Around for the Next Act

Watch how I attempt

to balance inflated eggs

upon my last spoon. See how

I feign functionality from the

smudged and dripping edges

of a migraine. An aura. Prelude

to a cataclysmic mind event.

The walls crawl with mixed dosages.

Fresh air can be a cure-all

but it’s oh so hard to find. Within

the greyest spaces of this fog

pulses a neon electric blue. A beacon,

long-buried. A firefly flashing, teasing hope.

Something so beautiful

taking cover under

pressure point clouds.

It’s there. It’s still there.

Temporal lobe interlude.

A fingerprint left behind

by a Maker who

believed enough in my

societally flawed design.

Watch me practice with these

frayed strings. Nerve twanged fingertips.

An attempt at a life song of sorts.

A recorded history. A hint of my riddles,

my mystery. Mappings of

light and dark memories.

Lines on hands.

      Lesions on brains.

My yolk soul

spilled all over the floor

from losing motor control.

        Dancing neuralgia.

Using a crooked finger

to shakily capture everything

to mold into solid word form.


Published by Jennifer Patino

Poet.

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