after 1
a.m.
remove contact
cataract
night glasses
mon-oculate at
K’s mouth,
just a
black hole
in his face.
Dream I ate his brain,
diffused our fight
by morning,
4,686,868
bytes in
58
seconds.
Our brain,
the cat puts a parasite in
so we love
him more, suffer
litter with some
gastric
juices
on the rug.
Shadow, the oldest
of 4
K brought
to apartment
and a corpse
already
under the
floorboard.
Electric composter
doesn’t belong in tiny
subdivided
old Victorian.
I like Saturdays,
benzodiazepine
vacuuming
over and over scarred wood.
Will the machine eat its own cord?
heart heart
burrow in
become zero
Amber DiPietra is a poet and disability culture worker in San Francisco. Her interests include tracking the orthopedic body in real time, personal fossil records, ¡accion mutante! politics, and warm waters. Poems and prose pieces by Amber have appeared or are forthcoming in Make, A Chicago Literary Magazine, Mirage Period[ica], Tarpaulin Sky, Mrs. Maybe and TRY!. Visit her blog at www.adipietra.blogspot.com.