The metal bar with a loose wire is not at fault

Fat rash of pink spackled across cheeks 75 minutes afterwards

The five hundred dollar MRI says both hemispheres normal

To feel the outer perimeter of the brain squeeze itself

There is no medicine for light that goes sideways behind eyelids

I sit in the car with my credit card bill and discolored face

***

My mother’s job at a London factory resulted in a concussion

Her auburn hair tangled in a machine that cut her head

She couldn’t discuss the creek of blood or the bats that appeared on her street

Mother            We are here but untethered

Hover around a cliff’s edge like smoke that drifts

We are perpetual fog

***

I use the prefrontal cortex of my friend to interpret instructions for getting divorced

I disappear behind the curtain of a warped winter and collapsed mood

Stitch myself to imaginary angels who offer wineskins filled with gin

I dream of a sixth sense that will carry my mind to the temple of the sun