I
Remove the
poem. Each
image floats
by. Dissolve
in shade of
black/white.
Becoming red ball,
trace the dream.
Awaken to sleep.
.
II
Right hand
is blank.
Left hand
is blank.
Right arm
is lead.
Left arm
is lead.
Right fingers
are burning.
Left fingers
are burning.
Left hand
is right hand
is burning, blank
lead.
Head blank.
Gone. Blank all
image. Gone.
.
III
Is it possible
that I am bigger
than this bed, all
beds, upon beds? That I spread
too much all over the bed, falling
off the bed?
Or instead,
am I a small
Speck
on the bed?
That could
never fall
off the bed
because I’m
just a thread
on the spread
of the bed.
•••
Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Boston Review of the Arts, Kalliope, Mudfish, Spectrum and Word Thursdays. Four of her books have been published by fine literary presses. Her latest title is Having Lunch with the Sky, A.P.D. Press, Albany, New York.
tongues of the ocean 
simone
I like this. Not sure why yet. But I find it very appealing.