Miranda Field |
Pharmaceutical
Mirror/skaters diorama.
Night-time glass glows black,
iron radiator’s hulk thrown back, dry air
catches in throat, dark early, hundred-years
sleep war begins, tundra bears down.
Closest you get to actual ghost-hood:
child’s body falls out of bed with a thud—
corpse tossed in a ship’s hold.
Closeted laboring, enlarged heart
of the dark. This is how it hibernates, my I—
still alive in its glass coffin, fake
sleep around the clock.
Miranda Field
Posted on January 3, 2009 9:05 AM