Figures in Isolation
I came home crying non-diegetic tears.
The water in your brain is water, is
picturing water, is my water, redistributed.
Yes, I have a hard time staying clean.
Things I know: skin is a context.
I context all over this couch
and never feel a thing.
This is called somnambi-mirror-being
and it only hurts a little.
I just want to talk, I just want
to pour out of my body, I just want
you to see it. I am coming home
with all too diegetic water.
Please, take a few handfuls
so I can get the keys. At least,
stand there. At least,
stitch rivers into me.
You don’t have to be alone.