...like in that dream where you can't run...

I am at home again
in the place where nothing can grow,
where trees keep falling onto the roof.

Duty pushes me
against the red of my own power
while the clock kills time
with promises of a future.

The sutured spine's unzipped.
Mother's memory erased.
I find an old rope
and noose it around my neck.
Frayed, it could never hold my weight
but the tyranny of the weak has undone me.

The carpet to the door exhausts itself
with plans for escape. I cannot make a move
but look how well the path proceeds
without me.