A Trick of the Light
Erin Clarke

Awash in clinical glow,
It’s an attempted depression abduction;
My makeshift sun with robot feet–
High-voltage shine masking
A sleight of head, shifting proteins around pulsing brains,
Because something about a dearth of particle collisions
In the action-starved backs of my eyeballs
Has something to do with whether the dishes get done,
Which makes as much sense as fitting a set of shoulders
Through a pelvis
But I managed that too,
Many things are possible, with or without reason.
The insides are dangerous, you know.
It’s a spooky bog of venom, bindings, trap doors, and sheer cliffs
Tangled up inside electrical twinges through hyper-aware pudding.
If I am ever devoured
It will be from the inside.
The daylight keeps my vampires tucked in sulky coffins,
In theory,
So with fervor I flood my face in the spotlight
And pray to a lamp
Every morning,
For twenty minutes,
To save me from myself.