R.E.M

a poem

Photo by Jörg Grote on Unsplash

The shutters have gotten stuck, paused mid blink.
I wouldn’t mind that they sit for hours on my eyes but they’ve stopped right where light touches iris.
The echoes of their creaking downward journey keeps travelling through the bedsheets, vibrating with the hum of an amp turned too high.
It’s how I imagine blue light would taste if it were to graze against a scratched tongue.