Sharp Knocks

Looking out the bedroom door, no, window
Or both, but I see nothing- and everything at once.
No reason, no clue, no knowledge, nothing
But remorse, and questions spilling, spilling, spilling out onto the glass coffee
Table stained with fingerprints and dried alcohol-
                              I once sipped and drank and gulped and downed and,
Then light.

               As I wake up with my insides turning inside out
Turning insides and around and around inside,
I see silence. Or was it water? Transparent it flows inside
Out. Out the bedroom…
Door, no, window. Seeing nothing but feeling,
Nothing. The sharp knives on the small of your spine,
As I feel it on mine,
Or the pin-prick whispers of the pines
Outside the window,
Seeing nothing.
Then light.

A sharp knock, knock, knockknockknock as they clamor to
See what you’re seeing outside the window, seeing
Nothing, but they say there in shadows
Of your imagination, a dark
Nothing only they can describe to you, not seeing.
But feeling.
Then light.

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