Stargazing Through Silk Blindfolds
by Logan February 

There's a single shriveled hibiscus by my bedside, 
next to the night-glass where I keep 
my eyeballs when they itch.
It is old, and it has lost its scent by now.
I was supposed to write about it, I think, 
but I'm too blind tonight, 
and it has no color anyway. 

Two veins, one needle
(I have always been tragic with division).
Two needles, one vein,
this is how I know to dance. 
Eyes shut, tongue out,
I am in a spacesuit, 
and these stars have nothing good to say. 

Will it kill me if I'm already dead?
Sway my head as I tango across the highway 
Mismatched socks, overgrown arms
the bathtub is full of sawdust, and sworn secrets too.

I can whisper, I was taught, I swear,
there is something above,
seashore, see-saw, skyline.

Lemon scent, morning noise, wake wake,
toss a hiccup toward the universe, 
where the fuck did I keep my eyes this time?
Slip in (gently now, don't wake the monsters
under the bed).

Crimson calendar swears I have slept four years
and a hibiscus field has grown
somewhere in my liver.
Sway my head, as I fertilize them
Lemon scent, whiskey scent, heaven sent

I am going back up
and my spacesuit is missing.
Tongue out, lung out,
there is no oxygen here
and no breathing.
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About barkingsycamores 183 Articles
Barking Sycamores is a literary journal entirely edited and operated by queer neurodivergent people of color. We publish poetry, artwork, short fiction (beginning with Issue 3), creative nonfiction (beginning with Issue 8), and hybrid genre work (beginning with Issue 9) by emerging and established neurodivergent writers as well as essays on neurodiversity and literature and book reviews (beginning with Issue 10).

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