last night. 10:18 pm

I am a hole in the ground.
3 feet wide and sufficiently round.

My mind is taken through a ski lift's escape, an exploding plane ride broken in two
plummet. plummet.
to the ground.

Rigid, wooden bodies buried in shallow graves.
My brother packs them tight.
And Civil War soldiers pass me sprinting into the night,
stacked up 10 feet high
broken, disjointed, after Gettysburg, Antietam, Appomattox Courthouse

I am a hole in the ground.
Who loves boxes of coffee lined up on ancient shelves,
waiting to find their way into your veins.
You doubt I can see the sun and find Aldebaron,
and it takes old genius boyfriends to make me laugh.

Outsiders.
Dirty sheets.
Stewing sardonic afternoons.

I am a hole in the ground.

I'd cut your fingers off if you'd let me
and serve them to your mother battered and fried.
I'd pin your photo to the wall
and beg for ears, and mouths, and eyes.

Lascivious.
Yellow, lavender checkered pillow cases
freshly washed for Mother Nature's sanitation.

I'd sleep until I'm 30 if I could
and take a beating from your fingerless fists until I am blind
and black
and blue

Just don't step inside of me again.

I am a hole in the ground.