~

All these people on the street, I’m thinking, we’re all knives

we’re all knives but these other people, they’re the handles

I’m a blade

~

pacing back and forth

back and forth on the curb

panic perched on an edge with papered wings

it’s just a bridge   just a bridge   just a bridge

I’m a blade

the papered wings finally open and

I walk across

~

in the restaurant I tie on my apron

I take orders   bring food   walk up and down

up and down aisles

smelling strong coffee and old food

everyone talking

and their voices open wide in my head

mouths move    words pour out    I keep moving faster

surprised there’s meaning

the whole room

one long sentence

it’s poetry in motion

~

the $1000 car is a boat too big for handling

I’m too tired cross country driving falling night

I have to get there    have to get there

you know I have to be there on time if I know what

but now hard comes the rain

and then harder a somnolent coating

car light prisms smearing all the windows bright white

in the middle of the bridge

the papered wings open wide

and I say

“close your eyes it’s a dream”

and it is

a dream in this moment

~

my car’s bumper a foot from the campground tree

parked like an expert valet all breakfast voices and sunshine

I wake with not a clue how I got here

having slept without knowing it the rest of the night

a woman with her kid walk by

close to my window but

everyone seems miles and lifetimes away

something opens as I look all around me

the papered wings fly out and I push them away

starting the ignition automatic all action

I turn from the sun’s mourning light

on my way west again numb to all handles

I’m a surgeon cutting into muscle to remove the strain

I’m the blade

~