It is midnight
when I crawl out of bed, my body
a tub of vanishing light. My stomach
unclenches her frightened fingers
one by one, those waking spiders
hunting for home. A foxhole will do. I open
the silver vault: a yellow bulb out of blackness
illuminates every silence.
I select a bowl of pre-cut fruit
sticky juice clinging to my skin as
my teeth are born: those desperate soldiers. Every hive
of sugar on my tongue
turns to stone. I swallow the silt
of an empty river. I’ve got
to stop doing this I think. Eating acid
and waiting
for it to turn sweet.