To Save Electricity (written February 16th, 2011)

I’ve let go of purpose:

living, dying, dreaming.

My ego can no longer

sort out my unconscious

and barely knows

what my heart wants. But,

I think that in dreams

where I’m falling, it must

be death. And if he’s there—

I dream that the man

I used to love is falling, but

I haven’t pushed him.

The television flickers beneath

my eyelids when I wake: blue

static flashes, and laughter

buzzes like flies. Every time

he falls, it jars me just as

I’m jumping after him. I turn

off the tv, then silence—

an awful feeling like cleaning out

mouse traps in the morning.

The standing lamp in my

living room gets long or short—

depending on the sun’s

position. (I’m certain) And,

all day, I’m crouched behind

couches under tables. And,

I’m telling that silly lamp that I’ve

no persistence for keeping up

with the mice on the floor, or their

shadows. (I’m lying.) I’m trying to pick

them all up and throw them away

without gagging. I tell him I

ingest seventy-eight of someone else’s

truths and ninety fluid ounces

of Coke in a day. That my dad says

the government put something in it,

to fatten us up, our apple-mouths.

As I drop another shadow-mouse

in the trash, I tell the lamp

it’s no matter:

Though, when people

tell stories, I blink at the wall.

I heard love songs once,

guitar strings in my ribs. Until,

I listened from outside

and heard a joke. I turned off

the music and saw a spectacle—my face,

in the mirror, all quivering—Picasso.

(That look has since settled). When

I clean out the mouse traps,

I tell the lamp. Or I used to—until

I felt like he wasn’t

listening anymore, and

I turned him off. But I always

turn everything off.

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