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Falling Apart

Falling Apart

(Within My Illusions)

My foundation is crumbling.

The three-inch pressed powder disc

that’s enclosed in a plastic

silver clamshell case,

the stuff I use to cover my face,

to smooth out the inconsistencies

while still allowing the me to shine through,

the one I waited two weeks in the mail for,

is breaking apart in chunks

and falling on the floor

and into the sink where it mixes

with water and forms

a muddy paste.

The zipper is busted

on the neoprene sleeve

I use to protect my computer.

The grooves don’t line up

so the zipper slides back and forth

and back and forth

and back and forth and back

on one track

as the fabric flips and flops,

exposing this device

on which I store my life.

My fancy Swedish SUV

will not let me into my trunk reliably.

There’s a little button that operates

the hydraulic elevation lift,

and sometimes when I press it

nothing shifts,

and I have to feel around

and feel around

and feel around

in just the right way

for it to respond.

And sometimes it doesn’t so I

have to fold down the rear seats

and reach through the back.

And sometimes it works with ease

and that feels like a tease.

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