by Chrissie Gittins
I am letting go of my senses,
my brain is about to explode,
there are pelicans flying around my limbs,
we’re in for a feather episode.
All along my intestines
a mole is trying to crawl,
he has trouble seeing at the best of times,
down there he sees nothing at all.
In the chambers of my heart
primroses are starting to grow,
they will flower and bloom and bloom and flower
while the sun stretches high and then low.
My main concern is my clavicle,
it has become a perch for birds,
for sparrows and robins and wrens and crows.
All they will eat is my words.