the bullet that only grazed your heart
your missing child
on the other end of the phone
cancer that was ahead 10-0
in the last inning
and forfeited the game
and love
in any form
appearing at your door
carrying an overnight bag
and Chinese takeout
with only one set
of chopsticks
like doll plastic the face shines eyes sealed the body posture is not sleep fully clothed it lies at attention in the perfect receptacle for unmotivated discharge so many ways to read death no trans
no such thing as a botched attempt to love its splendor is its awkwardness its stock rises with a stumble it rattles the consciousness of routine makes it strangely fresh and first-time even its failu
I can almost see your soft spots we all have them like a newborn’s but no longer physical hidden on your infant body of emotion yielding vulnerable naked untouched the innocent areas oh don’t