checking in on my blind spot

television static in chameleon skin

crumbled drywall or paper snow

dead optical cells and misprocessed vitamin A

‍

the brown splotch on white ceiling tile

a festering coffee stain

right above your third-grade teacher’s desk

the pipe that burst before you were conceived

left to rot at the taxpayer’s expense

‍

the quiet kid in your biology lecture

packing up his belongings too early

forgetting to push in his chair

‍

the tenured professor

calling you “Susan” when your name is “Samuel”

spilling scalding herbal tea on your lap

‍

residing in the technicolor pixels

of a mother’s featureless face

in between the first and final letters

of any written word

‍

inside feel her 

diameter widening

circumstance expanding

her static absorbing and destroying

compressing and condensing

then collapsing in on itself

until there is nothing

‍

but her.

‍