Shoulder Blade
How do we talk
To our dead /
Like trauma they
Interrupt us
Our daily routine
Not ritual but
Remorse instead
Of recovery / we’d
Enjoy making memes
This election year
Deft take-downs
Of shark-fearing
He-man / his under
ling who doesn’t
Mean to be mean
To cats / I fell
In a dark hole
Of right wing fantasy
Social media samsara
Can’t get it out of
My head / knife
In my shoulder blade
Is metaphor (I
Tell my daughter)
Or displaced wound
Taken from or for you
Whose written voice
Sits in Signal
Like an egg
To be cracked
When I want
To be strong
Then shatters into
White and yolk
Fore-conversation
As we are
Now after it
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