A series of Hallucinations from Lansing
October 24th, 2008 by Stephanie
Trying to sleep in Lansing, MI
1
Life comes to me again—
a fifth of Jack, burning
me down to cinders and dust.
It’s not like you think—
I blow in the wind
painting pictures through
the sky. I rise up
from a bonfire.
An old man plays guitar
and sings the blues—
his voice full of ashes
turned to dust.
I like it, scattering
myself in his words.
2
A Teddy Graham leaps from the yellow box,
chases me around the library corridors,
chuckling, I’ll get you this time.
His fangs twinkle in the fluorescent lighting.
First, he goes for the legs—
he dunks my head in a tub
of holy water. Drink and be
whole again! Fully saturated,
like a used tampon, it sinks
down and down—can’t bear
this heaviness of being.
He gobbles me up,
savoring me, licking every
lingering remnant from his lips.
3
This frenzy, this restless soul syndrome,
scratches through my skin—leaving
only shreds from the inside out.
Yes, I’m cold—
Cover me up from head to toe,
hidden from breezy looks.
Eyes wild, cousin Suzie envelopes me
In her anger and fear. A knife presses
firmly on my jugular.
It’s just coke, no crack. A classy drug.
Don’t you wanna join the family trade?
The cool blade threatens closer. I smell
steel. But my pulse does not race. I am
a vision of calmness—an oasis.
She doesn’t understand. I’m already
cut up, cut out. Nothing left
to sink the blade into—
4
Over-drunk from pilfered tequila,
I curl tightly into a ball,
rocking back and forth and
back ad forth, on clammy floor tiles,
trying to keep the butterflies down.
I get a cold glass of water—
study myself in the mirror, tears
smear mascara down my cheeks:
a Rorschach test—
I am a raccoon, a scavenger.
I finally cede—
Retch out the butterflies, fluttering around
and around inside of me, searching for an orifice.
They climb out of the mess of booze and bread,
try their wings and fail to fly—
With a quick flush I seem them spiral
down into the filthy muck of the sewer.
