Thursday, March 22, 2012

a mouse lives in my breast

or is it a bird? better to be a bird if this is to be a proper poem -- form fitting -- bird to wing-bird, like a hanger, or hinge-broke. I brokered for a clean bill

of health, I know nothing, only that it's a quiet thing that glows and sputters

the x-rays made a map; we looked at it together

a broken bolt held under
not like water but a type of fluid, pinkly clear

a body is so much of something to hold
I almost let it get away from me
is this real?