Washing Machine

In a dream
A guy named Shen was playing my baritone saxophone
I woke up in a sweat, and raced up three flights of red carpeted stairs
in my red-brick childhood home,
"Please do not play my saxophone without my permission," I said
taking my horn off his neck.
I feared a strangers teeth marks on my black mouthpiece.
"I speak from experience," I said.

"You were always stubborn, beginning at age two. Your sister was a
goody two-shoes"
Her one hand gripped me and the other tried to eviscerate me.
My self-portraits were a pile of body parts.
"Is this how you see yourself?" my teacher asked.
"Absolutely," I replied.

after a cold pond swim
hopping heart
black coffee and cinnamon toast
tongue dances
skin sings
mind shocked awake,
body is content, cozy
a vivid sensory world

a love affair with sky, wind, soap,
and clotheslines
I escaped prison in a laundry cart.