jumping

track skips
the notes. A broken song
cut-off by the arm. I see
the scratches left behind of

the years turning
on the same turntable. I put it on
over and over, as my pajamas. Sang it in
my sleep. Played it as the night

grew black/as I lost count
of sheep. They all wear
down eventually. Lose their sharpness
in the darkness, and replaced

with a substance, running
through my teeth. Flip-flopping
in my esophagus like my sandals
on the beach.