Member Poem

a sketch in autism: morning ritual disrupted

hot circle bursts open
throws brightness
through clear square
in sleeping place
walls throb color

the me of me sways in and out
waves of hurt
snake around my paper coat
the mother has touched

the mother voice echoes
sound upon sound
scratching the hard insides
that keep me from melting

led to place where smell
become shapes in mouth
see round cup
white water rains on brown specks
noisy in mouth like smashing rocks

SHINY SHOVEL IS WRONG

bells ring
THUD
slam into hardness
round top of me
where eyes are not
where soft strings are i pull
with stars living on the sticks
i do not walk on
THUD THUD almost there
place where bright turns dull
sound turns off
seeing turns soft

voice moves
like green on wood
shovel now has face on end
the mouse that lives in the talking box
all things rest neatly now
like bent cloth
the mother forms sounds
that mean – fill me up
face splits open
mickey zooms up close
with eyes that tell me everything.