CLEAN CUT
by Toti O’Brien
Yesterday I killed a dream
with a kitchen knife
rapidly, my hand fast
my teeth clenching.
Now the wound…
hair thin and invisible
until purple appeared
then spread like an avalanche.
Pale, the head rolled in a corner.
I checked it (of course)
turning it face up with a kick:
it was mine.
Reassured
I slept through the night.
Today I’m up early
sound and safe
just slightly compressed
as if soul and body had lost inches
of air fever foam
as if a large stone had crushed me
down to my proper size.
A lingering taste of iron
earthy heaviness
in my limbs.
I thought of coffee
I made toast.
Gyroscope Review - page 41
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