Around 1:00 AM

by T.A. Stanley

Around 1:00 AM,

the only thing I know is:
this is not
my body—

I pick it away into dust,
Slowly scratching

dry cells fall to
the floor, and I sweep them
under the stove, just
so I never see them.

I twist my head
off my neck

like play-dough.
Turn, turn, turn,

Until it pops right off, you
could look down the center
of this, my not-body—

see my spine
poking through perfect
concentric circles,
like a tree trunk.

If you count the rings you find
how many times I’ve wished,
prayed to God,
never to have a penis inside me
again—and then changed
my mind.