"Who Now" — photographic artwork by Kris Saknussemm
Condition
Today is Wednesday but in me it's Monday.
Vertigo floats its ear crystals inside
and out there. The world is a mafia state: particles,
letters of matter. When I roll to my right, the latter
rise everywhere. They become settlers in sheets, eels within sleet,
these terse little seers. Truth is, my mother, brother, and I
lie in our separate homes watching the world pearl around—
each in our discrete positions. Conditions. To see things
unseen by others means you are mad. Am. My brother can't
stand. My mother smells worn. I have this mangling sense
I should only ever make their feelings run
center-page. This level of empathy debilitates, albeit it
helps me be everyone as I assemble
to green gill bilge glee as if when I lean toward this
side of the wind I'll begin to be legible—
