I open my ribs.  
peeling back the sinews and  
capillaries with precision.  
The crack of spreading bones,  
my chambered apparatus laid  
delicately on the table.  
  
My implement extracts its pound
onto the slab with intention,  
pulled and pressed till it's paper  
thin and bled out. Soulspeak scrawled  
in the crackling veins of my parchment.  
  
I put my machinations on display  
for onlookers, merchants  
and collectors  
but none seem to gather any interest.  
Skinpull another page  
but nothing sells  
or charms or foments.  

I pack my wares and  
toss them onto the pile of  
my dried out corpse scattered  
on the floor.  
Failure.  
Another procedure.  
Relent, repeat, cut deeper.  
And hope to find a reader.

I recall the faux weddings
That youth had adorn.
We were something like five or six,
Playing in her attic.
They had setup
A whole play marriage altar
Out on the back lawn.
My "bride-to-be"
Was dressed in her attire properly,
White veil & everything.
We had often played at house,
But never at matrimony.
It was always explicitly implied,
In such games,
That we were already married.
I did, she did -
You may kiss;
Sweet pronouncement!
Just as with half of all marriages,
We eventually grew apart.

Maybe it was the economy,
Maybe it was our goals;
Maybe it was because we were children,
Maybe because it was just for fun.

I still remember picking for eggs
At her home on Easter.

enter through the same
door he walked out of — that is
how
          you find
                           my heart

Little words,
little thoughts
Nothing
of great import.
Not
life changing
or even life, rearranging.
Just a
whisper
in my ear.
Makes the
moment
far les drear
Gives me
comfort
Clears
the mind.
Lets me know  
we are one,
standing together,
creating life,
a forever
Just begun.
All the
little words
will run together, become a hum,
like bees in
a hive
we have a goal
making
sweet honey,
staying
alive.
Little words
Will let us thrive