A yellow light.

Surgical silence.
Turns of the alley—

like cuts made in an operating room.
A dog curls his body

to make his own pillow

on the stretcher of the alley.
The doctor has no face

to blame.

Only cold hands

to feel.
To be outside

is to already be inside

the operating room.
waiting for wounds to be stitched shut.

waiting for the light to go off.

waiting for a real sleep—

where I’m not something to be fixed.