I feel two toes against the wall
but no connection to what's on the other side
white paint can travel lines but
when it hits the light it bends, has nothing
else but can
eat
away
at what is in skin
I took an envelope and wrote my name on it
hoped it would come back with what I meant to say.
But when it came back it was just paper
wet wood pressed with the thoughts of the factory workers as they left home,
punched in, pressed on,
and the letter had no chance.
I tried again above my blanket at night
while I hear the cold outside
and wondered who was breathing so loudly
until I touched
my stomach
and found it was me.