Poem 20150803

impressions of my headache
while lying on my bed with
my eyes closed and my hands
pressing into the sockets

luminous purples and greens
shaped like eggs
floating in a red-brown soup
but not a true black

the lie of blue shapes
and blood colored stripes
and finally a vertical slash
of white that fades as it slices
from top to bottom

cutting is the only truth
in the darkness
until you open your eyes