AT NIGHT I POP 50 MG OF ZOLOFT— SMOKE A JOINT—AND COUNT THE STRANGERS IN MY DREAMS

M. Bennett

—i fall asleep as always—

chapped lips leaving a hazy taste on my tongue—
another taste from some discount 
lemon glaze chicken tossed in my cart 
after another sweaty shift stocking shelves—

arms pulled tight between my chest and my mattress—
i shadow the world and sleep—

or post masturbation 
and post-post-masturbation tears 

i tuck my body into itself 
and wet my pillow

until too tired to keep eyes pried open i sleep—

and sometimes you are there 

and sometimes you are there 

and sometimes you 

and you 

and you 

are there with hundreds of others i don’t know—

so i throw myself into a lake—

and i lock myself in a burning post office—

and i look over my shoulder at some cackling you—

and i don’t wake up—

and i know i’m not waking up—

and i know i can’t get away—

and i know this is not the right you—

so i get in some elevator—

press myself into the stainless wall—

first i press here—

then i press here—

the 

buttons 

all 

light 

the 

same—

and i end up back in the water—

i look for some friendly you—

but that’s a different kind of dream—

where you 

and you 

and i 

strip naked 

and wade calf-deep in the mucked up pond back home—

but this you wants me 

purple and unbreathing—

so i take the elevator 

and take the elevator 

and run the stairs 

and crash dad’s car 

and hail a cab 

and take the fucking elevator 

and always end up in the water—

and i look for a steady you in the bathroom 

behind a steamed-up shower door—

and i look for a simple you 

on the floral couch next to the other yous—

and i pretend that i am a you in my own dream— i don’t like this steering—

and none of these pieces stain-glass together enough 

for the light to filter in—

i wake up in the dark—

no yous—

barely a me—

i wake up but still asleep—

go to the kitchen for a drink

---

m bennett is a poet living in Tucson, AZ. Originally from a village in Ohio called Jewett, they explore their rural background, mental illness, inherited traumas, & sexuality in their writing. The recieved an MFA in Creative Writing from The University of Alabama, & their work has appeared in GASHER, Brainchild, & a few others. They miss cows daily, love vintage costume earrings, attempt to bake pies, & spend their free time painting eyes in many forms. They desperately hope that the ghost of their great-gramma Bea will appear to them outside of a dream, but they are still waiting.

Want to read more Funicular? Subscribe once. Forever.