ripped out
ripped out?
no, crushed
stomped on, left in place
still beating but out of time with life
fighting against the weight left behind
when they’d had enough and trashed the rest and you’re buried in the pile
waiting for another need to surface.
there’s no jump start,
no rhythm boost to make you beat in time again
with life that spills on along
poured from heaven on the happy ones
the fortunate ones
the companions.
time heals all wounds
and wounds all heels.
no vengeance in that
when knowing it uncovers a bruise, forgotten, a last piece un-plumped,
un-recovered.
Love fill it for me.

I’m cutting your string.
The ball can roll
like columbus round the world
looking for the edge.
And I’ll be left
with the short piece
ready to drop it in the trash
while you tangle with your mess.
Sticky fingers,
trapped in knots
wondering how I got away
without a catch.
That’s what happens
when you play with girls
who run with scissors.
I’m sharp as steel
and just as strong.
Be careful
it might be
your fingers bleeding.