and I'd like to get naked and into bed and be hot radiating heat from
the inside these sweaters and fleeceys do nothing to keep out the out or
keep my vitals in—some drafty body I've got leaking in and out in all
directions I'd like to get naked into bed but hot on this early winter
afternoon already dusky grim and not think of all the ways I've gone
about the world and shown myself a fool, shame poking holes in my
thinned carapace practically lacy and woefully feminine I'd like to get
naked into bed and feel if not hot then weightless as I once was in the
sensory deprivation tank in Madison, Wisconsin circa 1992 I paid money
for that perfectly body-temperatured silent pitch dark tank to do what?
play dead and not die? that was before email before children before I
knew anything more than the deaths of a few loved ones which were
poisoned nuts of swallowed grief but nothing of life of life giving
which cuts open the self bursting busted unsolvable I'd like to get
naked! into the bed of my life but hot hot my little flicker-self
trumped up somehow blind and deaf to all the dampening misery of my
friends' woe-oh-ohs and I'd like a little flashlight to write poems with
this lousy day not this poem I'm writing under the mostly flat blaze of
bulb but a poem written with the light itself a tiny fleeting love poem
to life hot hot hot a poem that would say "oh look here a bright spot
of life, oh look another!"
Rachel Zucker
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