I make nightmares
with the palms of my hands
place them over my eyes
and carry them like
totems
I carry them like freedoms
that are violent
i carry them like
futures
that do not exist
I carry them like
my children
that will die
I carry them,
sure of their nudity
and sure of their
stubborn
rise into my
stomach
the way a
kiss pollutes
Us.
I carry many deserts
and many lips
that stay frozen
on nights
falling
into moon-rises.
i carry my ego
with clusters of sugar
and borrowed guilt
to drown them
slowly
in bathing water
I fuss over
things that
have broken previously
and are under the arrest
of public gaze
But still, I persist
in carrying
things silently
even as my nightmares
make me ill
They have eaten through my palms
since sometime
I think i must wash these
things from
my routine.
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