the great secret show

at around 9 am, i am roused awake by a low hum

the sun has already preheated the city by this point.

at just the right angle in the sky

a patch of the living room floor is showered in sunlight.

it doesn't last long, although

it stays in that area for a few minutes.

you laid your back there 

until you become a headless figure,

a searchlight blasting

the brightest and flatest beam from your neck.  

it takes the heat from our star 

about eight minutes to reach us

here on earth.

around that much time, i stared 

at the same spot on the linoleoum floor. 

it had been a few summers since the sun swallowed you-- 

that same spot has not felt warmth in a while.

the ground must have moved

or the skyline may have changed

or grime may have covered the windows.

i do feel i have lived long enough

too long

especially in this same house.

the center won't hold

i liberate myself
peeling my skin and removing
the rotten parts
the way you would an onion--
where the decaying flesh melds with
the papery exterior
odd shapes making alien landmasses.

only
each layer contains the same
blotches of mush and expanses of deep purple.
it's less putrid in the core, though
and i try and get my fingers
out of the way.

i make do with the slices
i leave behind
but throw most of it away in the compost.
yield has ceased to be a priority
at this point.