by on May 6, 2020 :: 0 comments

I take a mallet to your metaphor,
fish among fragments,
but come up empty.

Won’t you put anything
into my hands—
the most beggarly narrative?

Imagine me naked
in the snow,
not a single blanket?

Why a circus?
Why all the hyphens
thrown like darts?

You bar the door
and bar it again.
Have you no needs?

I appreciate
homage, but all mirrors
have backs

we cannot hide behind.
Come out. I promise
to hurt you

only the necessary amount.
Deliver yourself
in amnion and shit.

I wait to catch you,
to slap from you
a living breath.

editors note:

Indoor games while in lock down? Shelter from self. – mh clay

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