The Subtle knife

(found folded between other papers in my room. This was probably written in the spring of '07 (or maybe late fall/winter of '06). I typed it all, including the lines I'd crossed out. I remember ...)

how to leave his room
the hall was level
but, held by an unseen leash
like a dog
I searched for the
world brought on by each
new step like a dog
nosing for holes in
a chain-link fence,

finding them, one by one,
I wedged through thin
air & labored toward
the hallway door like
a bicyclist winding
his way uphill.
Occasionally I'd stop to rest
Occasionally the leash would jerk
or the fence would be sharp

Though stationary,
I'd stagger a few steps to
the left or right to keep
what mental balance I
needed to take a few
deep breaths. Sometimes,
scuttling sideways brought
me up against the hallway
wall, where I could lean
for a moment against some
outside pressure before trying again
Walls are good to hold
oneself together with

I reach the door & push it open

There is a path leading to the left

- -

I take the right
I am free of the hallway
My decision to leave is more
certain (now as there is not)

But often

Sometimes immediately
outside, sometimes I
can get halfway up the
physical hill of the
path - before the same
hand which
marionette hand
which suddenly
extracts the water
from the pit of
my stomach out
through my bursting
pinhole eyes
cuts the strength/strings
to my legs
and drops me to my
knees
where I am
paralyzed until
I rouse an unknown
strength to alter
myself into a
different world
in which I am
allowed to stand
& even to walk
to my own room