Thursday, February 4, 2010


My fingers and thumbs touch. Make halos.
The felt self of skin and brain send reciprocal messages.
An idle escape plan.

There is water
and I am naked. It is Thursday or Saturday --
drunk and mid-circuit, a time to wait.

Self-tactilation is difficult when attacked by choice.
Self-destruction is easy when not in motion;
this is a lie.

Deep breaths. Put back on bed. Touch fingers.
Grab hold. Lock arms. Do not let go.
Sleep. Change position. Sleep.

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