Monday, September 27, 2010

Culture Shock

Every morning I wake up and staple
gun a smile to my face before stretching
my gradually whitening limbs onto the synthetic floor.

My head craddles a litany of fool proof phrases
that slosh around Broca's region like foreign soldiers
caught in a flash flood.

Whether going to the grocery store or getting money from the bank,
eighteen sandbags are strapped
to my arms and legs
and my mouth and ears are filled with cotton balls.

While sitting at my desk, my fingers clench and unclench
reaching for something that I haven't yet discerned.
asking with words I havent learned.


ambiguous/smile said...

the hairs on my legs are bristling with sensation-

dead on.
dead on.
dead fucking on.

thank you. this gives me something, something i've needed and didn't know where to find.

eryan390 said...

i'm glad you're writing AND posting, Grace, and i'm glad i found it!