7 month sleep regression

By | 15 May 2023

a tiredness like a concrete boulder
grinding the optic nerve. the ayes have it.
the green eyes of potatoes glowing in the dark.

outside the window: leaves move
like fingers of the dead. waving, drowning,
possums rumble in the undergrowth.

a wasp is trapped in our house. it catches
itself in floorboards glazed with yoghurt
the twins flung from their spoons and knows

we’re all under house arrest. the charge: failure
to get a unicorn before brushing spider-man’s teeth
and now he’ll never play with me again.

remember: how spider-man lifted his t-shirt
and held his baby brother’s lips to his nipple.
try to forget: how we laughed.

strange: the backs of my children’s heads;
the pink rosebud of a wiped anus; its automatic
peristalsis, like an alien mouth wanting suck.

breastfeeding makes my bones feel hollow
and I haven’t pissed in days. they say birds
are all that’s left of dinosaurs, but I know

dragons are dinosaurs who fed their young
until they lifted off this glaring earth
and flew straight for the slumber of myth

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