My dreams are curving, speeding

rushing into gaps in dream traffic.

 

Despite the liquid in my veins

that tells the nerves

no trauma happened

 

despite the liquid in my veins

that tricks my memory

to forget —

 

my raped veins know

the needle penetrated

 

my carved flesh knows

the scalpel incised

 

my stitched face knows

sutures slid through that clear solution.

 

It will not be two days

until I piss out the serum.

 

It will not be one more night

before my chaos-mind resolves.

 

Bat wings whip beneath my eyelids,

shadows chase and harrow rest,

 

no sleep, no sleep, no sleep will come

until collapse from drummed exhaustion,

 

where my dreams go curving, speeding,

rushing toward that unconscious spot

 

that knows precisely

how the knife pared the skin.