day 13: nah.

Behind my sternum is a well of water and an empty cavern.

All my magnets have lost their opposites,

all my threads have seen scissors or come untied on the other end.

There's likely a honeycomb built into my ribs,

but they stay there.

All around the outside of the cage is cobwebs.

My skull--

I'm writing and I'm writing and nothing is happening.

I feel so full of nothing.

I can't even slide down the spiral,

so I stay floating.

This poem was handstitched together with no motor skills.

I hate days like this.

day 11: the cab-sauv and the giant

The cab-sauv and the giant--
The lipstick and the triumph--
Is only my pipe-dreaming,
Complete with f'reflies gleaming.
You're sitting there with lager,
Sitting somewhere, I'll wager,
Constant guffaws flowing from
Your mouth, which they're fixed upon--
The f'reflies with pearly whites
While I, at home, with all lights
On, am stumbling 'round the chairs--
Alone, avoiding all stares.
So, so, it goes: this glass of
Red,
Goes down
Like blood.

The end.

-Dana Winter