I Blink

I blink

and I wake up as somebody else.

What were you saying?

Let’s start over.

I blink

and the last five hours are gone,

transferred to an offshore account,

the books,

scrubbed clean.

I blink

and I wonder who spilled saline solution

right under my nose,

why I smell the sea,

and when my bottom lip jammed itself

firmly between my teeth.

I blink

and my past is a history written on a stone

somewhere by Aleppo.

I blink

and I don’t want to go anymore,

so screw you for being disappointed.

I’m disappointing.

I blink

and my eyes weld shut.

If I keep still,

won’t the world cease

or at least ease me into its curve?

I blink

and miss my exit.

Swerve!

I blink

and vacillate over

where I want to reside

on this damned bell curve.

I blink

and I want you to love me.

I blink

and I want to be unknown.

I blink,

I’m in bed,

but I’m never alone when

I blink

and the whole cast of history

tries to embody me,

this menagerie,

Humanity,

all at once.

I blink

and I’m full,

but I’m not quite myself.