I lay on a rough-carpeted floor,
my ribs,
hips,
breasts,
and toes, pointed to the darkened ceiling.
My heavy lids
crack,
like an old beagle
sunbathing on a front porch.
I will not rest.
All I can hear is muffled basketballs
bouncing in the gym
below me,
booming like rhythmic barrels
kneading Hukilau sands,
baby heartbeats,
a slow drum roll,
and random kernels snapping
seconds before the time is up.
My head is filled with
thoughts like worms sliding
through a thin funnel.
I will not rest.
I lift my skull from the floor
and scan the dim room--
there are bodies
flung
everywhere, asleep
and not dead.
I will not rest
in peace or in war
in this battlefield.
A parallelogram of
pale light stencils
near the door.
"Time to start waking up."
Clay figures stretch like
putty
and our dark box is in
motion.
Forty palms spread
toward blinking
fluorescent lights.
I
will not rest.
I will
not rest.
I will not
rest.
I will not rest.
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