the arm
is not yours. neither the bubbling
stomach—the black room the voices
from the next room a hundred
miles away the curving lines between
the shaking the slip the strobe
the bed the floor
the bed’s squeak the bending
of glass the light jump now
motherfucker out the window pull
back the blinds kick
it open all open everything open
run a corkscrew into your arm
motherfucker do it don’t
do it don’t
sit still
the feet over the edges the slip
the arm count again to ten
to ten one two thr—
no
again—how close am i
please safe? please
the arm
the bed
me
here with this shaking body