Three Bodies, by Rat Bonehead
Three bodies extend from an elbow
new selves to pour into
and rip out of.
The only thing I always am is angry.
I am less certain about things these days,
a pittance paid to me in a way of being,
a gift.
He mumbled about Cicero
as his ribs grew closer to his spine.
On docks loitered youth,
swishing lake water around in a toothless mouth.
I see her in pictures and I am certain all that she was has left now.
There is a staircase I know well,
another knew better.
knuckles pulled across brick in an attempt to champion mid-day exhaustion
following
soporific yet sleepless nights.
It's been a cold year.
