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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=530585" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>From the Ten, Laminated Minutes of the Early Morning</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=530585" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I found my body<br>Rubbing up against a coral reef, <br>My skin peeling off like cheese<br>In an aluminum grater, <br>	Leaving little red holes, or<br>		Empty pockets of air<br>	That resemble little red holes<br>		Where my flesh once was, <br>			And I feel myself<br>				Looking at myself<br>			And I turn away from what I see, <br>But I'm not sure that's me—<br>How can I see myself? <br>How can I see myself? <br>			I look back, <br>			And nothing is there.<br>			I thought I was there, <br>			But now there is an empty space<br>			Where I was lying down, <br>			Submerging a thin stratum<br>			Of invisible blue and white-<br>			Washed reflections.<br>	I wonder where my crumpled body has gone, <br>		Where my consciousness<br>		Or some Earthly force<br>			Might've heaved<br>				That heavy sack<br>		That I was—in that puddle: <br>A bag of broken bones, <br>Serrating through the muscle<br>	To breathe one breath of<br>What seems like air.<br>		Then that ocean before me<br>		Dries up, and all I see is sand.<br>				It stretches for miles and miles<br>Around me, behind and forward—Completely encompassing.<br>	Suddenly, I feel lost and embarrassed without any reason<br>	To feel that way.<br>		I feel as if I'm a grain of sand carried by the breeze, <br>		Scattering the ground to new, <br>		Yet similar landscapes, <br>				Traversing me to where I began…<br>		Which, to me, <br>				Seems like nowhere at all.<br>Then, I start to like nowhere, <br>And I ponder about if nowhere likes me, <br>And I postulate that we belong together<br>If we commit to each other<br>In the way we pretend married people might.<br>				Time begins to funnel in on itself, <br>				And the world drains from where I came from, <br>	And I come back to the surface, <br>	Sunken through eyes that couldn't see, <br>			And a cold sweat bathes my body<br>			In the hot, summer swelter.<br>I'm curious to know what the night should mean to me, <br>But forget what it does, <br>And remembered something else instead, <br>Decided that epoché seems appropriate—<br>		And that I create my dreams to dream new dreams.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Tim+Stensloff">Tim Stensloff</a></strong></div>