If it was up to me I’d 

throw the pebbles back

empty my pockets of the weight 

or grind them down into sand

whatever it takes

 

when the desperation brings forth languid pace

the beast’s face in my dream

is blank

and illustrious

embodied in

evil inclinations

 

it visits me often and says did you call?

and I pretend I didn’t

how coy, or at least I hope so

 

He hands me the now-stained harlot suit and it’s tight at first

but he helps shrink me back

with a straw, he sucks it out

dehydrates until

ribs meet skin and the knee joint’s stiff

we share one pant leg:

He doesn’t end where I begin

 

I remember my currency, and exfoliate

whatever it takes

 

I feel better! in this convenient,

edgeless world

I don’t see the steps 

my feet, or the floor

 

hovering above

what once was grief and I laugh and say

whatever

was this about?

 

and the manuscript rots 

and the muse

stops visiting

 

because I’m never home

I don’t hear it when the pantry shelves

collapse at night

and I don’t notice it until 

the phone stops ringing and withdrawal

makes me hungry

 

gravity renewed, the food makes its way down my esophagus

and I make my way down from the dream

I land back on atrophied feet and learn to walk again

Wave to the imaginary crowd clapping my return

“It never gets easier,” I muse

like the astronauts do