My hands are overstuffed
Mickey Mouse gloves -
numb and enormous.
Paralytic poison
seeps from the seams,
stitching tingling tendrils
up my forearms
as I roll onto my back.
The door to sleep creaks shut.
Everyday awareness infiltrates
my sanctuary,
reminding me with the dull ache
of blood starved limbs
engorged once again.
Spirit becomes matter.
Something scurries away,
slipping into the murky world
I've left behind,
where my overstuffed white gloves
now lay in wait.
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