I feel the shining glory
of life cut through me like
your sharpest knife through
my sweetest of fruits.
My insides have slept like
small children, nurtured
and nestled and tangled within
dreams and memories scrambled
and lost between and among each other.
They spill out.

My imagination juice dropped into a glass below,
dripped down onto the sterile surface;
drip,
drip,
drip.
I was, again, lost,
lost within my weightless falling,
caught between razor sharp edges
of sunlight which reflected
the dust motes surrounding me.
I felt myself in several places at once,
some drips of my being larger,
some smaller.
My fluid molecules
swirled and whirled within
each of my tiny bodies,
sweetened by the Sun's
biting radiance.
I felt the first impact,
the splatter of myself was
painless, at best.
My thoughts scrambled for air
as my soul scrambled for breath,
each piece too small to breathe,
each one still dependent on the whole.
I flew through the empty air
within the glass,
hitting the walls and sliding down,
pooling in the bottom,
collecting myself and taking
mental stock of my injuries.
As your knife cut in
the falling continued,
as the spaces between me
widened and shortened
with each passing drop.
We came to the lake at the bottom,
expecting a silent slumber,
however,
this sleep was active.
I stirred and swam in
the sea of myself,
my atoms bumping and bouncing,
bonding and breaking apart,
bringing my contents up
then down in convection currents
meant cut deep.
My above felt squeezed dry, by then,
as the drips lessened and lessened
and my body began to regain stability
and a deeper sleep.
A warmth crept around the sides
of my container,
heating the glass walls
like flimsy muslin cloths
wrapped around me to conceal
my true taste.
The calloused hands, those
slave-driven beasts of labor
rubbed my sides quite
excitedly,
erotically,
though it didn't fully reach me
through my layers of sleep
and solitude.
I felt a squeeze,
reassuring but definite and final
as a floating then a rising
reacted with my being.
My particles, tiny, unable to be seen
but impossible to ignore flew up,
millions of pieces of me floating in the air,
to crash back down to the surface
as I felt myself tipped back.
Greedy little pillows clasped
my clothing as I began to slide
down through those chapped men,
past the solid gates of yellow and near decay,
purifying the putrid mess
and bringing a larger beast to tears.
Streams of sunlight broke through my
silent streams, cut through each bond
I had made for myself as I felt
new pieces of myself lifted up
out of my old world
and dropped into a new one.
Drip,
drip,
drip;
drops fell in hurried patterns
down a dark and confined cavern,
bumping against fleshy,
slimy walls, contracted by
muscles struggling to swallow me.
I washed over growths and tumors,
stung the embittered tongue
as more of me slid out and through
the blackish hallway to collect in
an ocean greater than me
below.
At the bottom of the glass
a slight film remained,
though few would noticed it
and countless washings might obscure it.

Still, small particles remain,
clinging to the dignity of stability,
of sticky solidity and transparent walls;
some of me remains up there,
clinging to the glass,
clinging to the air,
clinging to the slicing sensation
of the Sun to my skin.