Wrist Deep

No Room

Start by filling all white pages with words,
scrawling doodles in the margins of horse heads,
take better notes on how to break things better;

or at least rip the sheets to shreds and throw the bits
up in the room like mid-air paper-plane collisions;
for there is no more room for things unsaid.

No more room for things left hidden. Open
all drawers and empty their contents on the floor.
Pull all yellowed pictures from their shoeboxes

and remember being young. And if you’re young,
remember being younger. Spread all curtains,
let the light hit you in the morning like a hangover.

Batter doors down and don’t replace them.
Refuse to batten down windows even in hurricanes.
Let them shatter in the wind, very beautifully,

like overburdened light bulbs bursting incandescence,
silent firebombs trailing light—like leaves falling
from burning trees—