Tonight's Poet Corner: Sensitive Scalp
Sensitive Scalp by Belinda Roddie The slightly stabbing pains - the short, sharp sensations, like Floyd's "short, sharp shocks" along the pristine glass of a prism - it's enough to change my dreams at night. They grow edges, become jagged in the middle of the stars' shipwreck voyage. You run your fingers through my hair, and the pain intensifies - it gets plugged into an amp in a small concert space, and suddenly, it echoes dissonant chords that not even my trained ear can discern. I think, most likely, the one responsible is my permanent puberty - because, after all, they lied when they said acne ended after adolescence - and now I'm left with new strategies on how to rest my head on the pillow without being zapped by Freud's finger, coated with static electricity.