Miraculously by Lane Fulwiler

I untangle myself from my sheets, 
miraculously, 
like a spider caught in its own cobweb
refusing to let it end this way.

My day has already escaped me while I was sleeping:
it fell like white sand through my blue-gray fingers,
and now it is hot
and now it is late.
I had too much to think last night
and I know the hangover will stick to me all day
like static electricity
so that whenever I push and pull
against the wool blanket of time,
my skin will sting me. 

Behind my eyes, there is a trellis for the vines
(they cannot stand on their own
with the weight of the flowers)
and when the wind rushes past my ears,
sometimes, I can hear a rattling.
My irises try
to look inward at the ones inside
and my vision sparkles 
like a mirror shattered,
cracked from the middle, outward
like the cascading net
 of a spiderweb.