Self Portrait of Someone Else
Chris Rhatigan
Knees pointed away
I roll my head against
oddly textured cement walls amidst
the hum of the heater,
vague chatter and cluttered footprints.
I wish,
I wish I could
throw paint against the walls
and smudge it with my fingers
till every color even outside the visible spectrum is represented
and these metal chains strewn
across my back will be scrubbed away
till the opaque feeling within exits
and is replaced by streaks of lucent streaming vibrancy...
then maybe a jump into a tire swing
and plunge into an uninhibited mud puddle
with freedom of comfort I used to know.
But chalk dust torture for the last
however many years prevents me
from acting on these reveries.
Rest easy though,
for your thoughts know
no leashes,
no chains,
so long as you let them
