On self-immolating rainbow, I tread, awoke to disordered dread, two whole decades and several years, stitched themselves to present, in sleep

in fetal position, eyes not open

for grandma and grandpas’ house off Round Prairie Road, as real as this keyboard, as real as this screen, as real and as deep, was is where I tread

but slowly, by degrees I found not ma and pas’ bed

yet the umbilical cord stretching through time, the stitches of skin-to-skin with self as ‘I’ and self as ‘then’

nor little boy on old bunk bed, eyelids retracted

or rather, two of three eyes opened

and the third closed, and presently found myself in this December two-thousand and nineteen bed, threaded sheets pulled out stitches that bound the back of my neck, shoulders, torso, legs and head

I got up sweaty and hot to urinate and defecate to exercise and meditate to walk on self-immolating rainbows,

nothing special nothing not special nothing –

So, I got up.

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