I spend evenings picking you out of my bed:
that skillet with electric blanket
I’m hand tossed, lightly breaded
with your body crumbs and
deep fried dreams.
Look for me, the daily special, all shrink wrapped
safe for home consumption.
My fingers dig sleep from the pan
chipping away the charred pieces
the way my alarm clock
lets the digits fall.
Or this warm spot:
your impress until I pull
blankets like palimpsest:
the pan that’s scraped again
yesterday pulled taut,
all clean and dry and used up.
How do I throw myself up?
With a razor and creme
my teeth will shine.
How do I attach rod to bed sheet
and hobo my life away?
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