13

I know him
by the strength of his grip
when I'm reaching the brink of dreams
and he senses me
in early morning silence
the way one feels an ice cube, swallowed
slipping down most private hallways
-mazes in our hollow bodies.

I always thought them bloody;
the epitome of human filth
but I slide through him to find passages gilded in ochre,
molten gold flowing in place of blood,
and a chandelier where his heart should be;
a brain of copper clockwork


It chimes and I count with it:
one, two, thirteen
I thought I heard it shrill my name
but it must have been a dream.