Embrouille Poem by L'Angley S Delmonte

the car seat
and you-
it's all water-
holds its shape,
maybe, but
not solid and
I keep slipping off
the leather is slick
too slick
my hands are slick
too slick
I keep slipping off it's
all water
can't even feel you there
my hands are dry
but the water?
the oak trees
are
swaying like palm trees
on this static
hot night
my fingers fall
right through
my thin t-shirt
into my
heart, or the floor, maybe
the box
is water too
colourful oxygen, illusions
dashboard bends
under my back
you're speaking in
tongues
literally
and I fall through
through the floor
through the tires
through the asphalt
through the bones
down the stairs
through the sky
past the people
through the clouds
through the stars
and the trees
past the street light
through the metal roof
and back again
exactly








where I was