I hear an animal within me, whimpering
madly and clawing at the inside of my chest.
When I am awake my words contain all the
distance in cold stars. But when I sleep, oh,
when I dream, I am spinning once again
in a golden field, and I am unafraid –
of dizziness, of falling, but most of all I
am unafraid of my own latent hunger. I’m
so good at pretending neither state exists;
not the realm of deep and blue cushioned
sleep, not this world where I feign cool
and passive ignorance. Perhaps, then, my
breathing beasts, my absolute ghosts only
exist on the brink where my big toe threatens
to touch the possibility of drop, where the
horizon line has the ability to extend for
years and years. I pick up the phone and dial.
Am I out of range, or am I there?
Are you there?