In silk boxing shorts, flung into the air. Blood in a diamond under the nail of my ring finger. Leg cramping like heartache.
Why couldn’t I be like this before? The thought pursues me up the road, nipping at my heels. Why couldn’t I be like this before? I turn and scratch it behind the ears. Maybe I was not ready to give what I needed to give. I can still feel the elastic membrane in me, showing me where I have left to grow. But for the first time, when I probe inside, I also feel the slim cylinder of iron that holds me together. No, it wasn’t always there. I extruded it with time, through the press of my mind. I grasp it as though taking up a sword. I grasp it and let go. Won’t Alvin be surprised, when he turns the corner in this seedy motel and sees me surrounded by arrows?
Associate me with citrus, with pine needles, with injuries to the hand. Sentence me to a lifetime and then to another one. Don’t let me die before pain has left my bed. Clothe me in white moonlight, in wayfinding that streaks the water in blonde. All this, because a loser wanted to feel important. Good luck, class of 2025.
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