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I am pulling the wires out of my veins.

When I woke up this morning,
My neck was wrapped in my cell phone charger
Umbilical chord. It wound itself
Across my chest and around each finger
I used to press the number keys.
I only dial with my right thumb.
It wrapped itself around my legs that walk me to your car.
It wrapped itself across my stomach,
Cutting into my flesh and
Making mounds like mountains.

When I woke up this morning, I hit the snooze button six times.

I am pulling the wires out of my veins.

When I woke up this morning,
The sunlight shone through the bright pink curtains
That I begged for
And bathed the room in a warm womb glow.
I buried myself under the bright pink comforter
That I begged for.

When I woke up this morning I hit the snooze button six times:
Once when I decided it was still too early to wake up.
Once after dreaming of Michael Kengmana,
The nicest Asian Jewish boy you’ll ever meet
Who kissed me on a rock by the Hudson River
And told me that he was giving up his dreams of being a bass player
To be a football player.
(I begged him to reconsider.
I was thirteen.)
Once to make tentative lunch plans and fall back asleep.
Three times for three dreams I have but can’t remember.

I hit the snooze button three times for three dreams I have but won’t remember.

I slept ten hours last night.

I dreamt I was in the hospital,
Responsible for every flashing light and high-pitched sound.
I dreamt I was cracking ribs and tearing out sutures
And putting in fresh ones
That were so strong that no one
(And I mean no one)
Could pull them out with their little fingers.
I dreamt I could help you
In the only way that I know how.

And when I woke up,
I was the only one home.