Dream Logic
I’m made of concentric circles
bloody feet and rubber cement
my touch is rusty
a doorknob covered with
flypaper
I climb out of one hole
stumble into another
all fall
no impact yet
I breathe easy down here
but the bluetooth connection
turned rotten
that rectangle swallowed
most of my thigh
doesn’t bother me any
if the mud in my lungs
ever gets to be too much
I’ll drop my uniform off
at the local seamstress
word on the street is
there’s nothing
she can’t fix