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Static, hanging in a day

Tamara Brennan

 

Static, stationary, hanging in a day,
Like clothes on a line.
Head is a buzz,
Eyes are wide ; but they do not see.

Faces talking at me,
Ears abandoned by sound,
Lips move, but
I see wiggles and squiggles where words should be.

And this feeling, they say, is called Down.
But where have i fallen from?
Yesterday i was high,
Now Iím on the floor.

Pick me up, shake me down,
Shake down this visage,
Unmake me; unveil me,
Do not derail me.

Help me out,
Out of this haze and into the next.
Fallen?
Yes, but I'm about to be swept back off my feet.

 

 

 

May 2005

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