# reality

irritation swelling in my chest,

in my fingers --

out of focus, my mind --

gummed up machinery, clicking wetly --

a nauseating resistance

where none should be.


reality itches.


when i was a kid,

sitting in a field,

i'd pluck the grass,

one stem at a time.

the nerves of the wild spinach

stretched like rubber bands

and snapped.