Thursday, June 25, 2015


Sweat like nettles where I’ve chafed, the pointed burn
of a fire ant unhappy with my position in life, a rebuke
after dinner: I’m so thin-skinned, tears abrade as they
well up, sting as they dampen my cheeks. It’s the heat
of the day, of some moment clinging to itself, you say;
but I know it’s the broken shards cutting underfoot after
we brought the hammer down on this shell of a world.

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