Kiira Walsh

{and now,,,,the weather}

You’ll find that urban sensibility
is the only way to fully understand
what it is like to get lost in a grid. 
On January 31st the neighborhood was flooded in bong water.
I wore my cherry rain boots and my socks were wet with stress. 
I walked to Bangkok while my city soaked in rice. 
I suppose I’ll return when I spend
all my dance moves
or when my muscles are replaced with
Marlboros and noodles.


Gravitas in the final word,
I’m laying belly to the carpet
plucking the fibers from the stitched cavities.
Crumbs of commercial junk food populate the rug. 
My fingertips inspecting the follicles
realizing my responsibility for
the conditions of this floor. 
I fray the tips between my nails.
I hear the carpet scream. 
The floor had January through March all over it. 
I invested in a used vacuum and
sucked you up.


Sleep Year

The dream begins at 1:00pm.
The dream is tangly and the dream is of me thinking in color. 
The dream is a waste of R.E.M. 
Working the occupation of gaining lost time. 
The dream is wrapped in thick blur and layered obscurity.
A picnic in an abandoned corner store, 
a crumpled glass, 
snacking on dandelions, 
swings hanging in an atrium,
an isolated staircase to nowhere in the backyard, 
a microphone in a pillow case,
romanticized linens,
lychee skins scatter the kitchen countertop.
The dream is 80% rose quarts and 20% serenity depending on your color blindness and year association. 

I woke up on the other side of sleep with a leg in my head
and a lemon breaking through my window without shattering glass
and these eyeballs exchanging places with the other
orbiting that sack of brain en route to their reassigned docking stations. 
Refraining from detaching each stringy optic nerve.
Circuiting behind my eyelids, disked windows oscillate wide and narrow
then cook in a muslin bag. 
Scenes are steeped into my memory
then cut with milk
for unconscious murk. 

I am the seamstress. 
I wake up thick from a year of sleep. 
I drink the wine
to cleanse myself of this year.

Kiira Walsh is a postmodernist-land-mermaid who occasionally writes poetry. Kiira likes gin and denim. Kiira is a BA Journalism candidate at the University of Denver and can be found found posting on the web as @kdoubleeye.