Time to Leave the Capsule

There is a tone to being in the covers surrounded by
Mucused tissues and empty thoughts
And empty thoughts,

Longing for the last mother,
Wanting sex with the next, not considering
The causes, the sacrifices, the syllables. The sneezes the illness the sickness.

Picture an ill child as they get it out their system
Necessarily, silent spurts forging life for them, discovering
The art of manipulation

And fried egg sandwiches, it not having to be like anything
For the poor thing but patterns
Desperate to be stimulated: viewers—look

At the kid, faceless and ungendered,
Alone
And unknown and free

In the sticky: do you think he cares
What this all is? Do you think he’ll consider what’s being released?
His is a flowing out

Of depth, for sure, but not so very big
Or clever or bleak, for now.
Though it might just be another lift, sunshine.

(A version of this poem was first published in The Poetry Lighthouse, January 2025 (https://www.thepoetrylighthouse.com/poems?author=67895f97e13a9f080f97d21f))