Judy Kronenfeld The 2River View, 8.4 (Summer 2004)

Dissolution Nightmare

In the dream I look on
as industrious workers occupy
my home, severed
from the mainland by an amazing

                                                            I turn and turn on the spit
                                                            of the sea, splayed
                                                            on the glassy underside
                                                            of waves

They pluck off
my fingers to eat,
to write; those are the shells
of my ears they hold
to their own

                                                            and break and spill
                                                            and am erased
                                                            and break and spill
                                                            and am erased

They crack my bivalved brain,
slide the sweet meats
whole down their throats,
they suck out
the marrow and read
my cast bones

                                                            and am dragged out—
                                                            a rent net—
                                                            to float, still in the body
                                                            of this death

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