if I were laughing
my eyes would be in the room
my heart would be on that table, in a vase, with a white sweater around it
but my eyes are before the light switch
covered on the ground beneath the flattest thing
a deflated hand
what can it sense
besides the world above
a dream in the chair on the ground
so heavy there is only a crashing noise of toppling
there is no more tingling
but the fright of love, the light, that never appears