that our mouths can tourniquet leaking wrists is a lie:
whereby omission is its own truth, whereby the act of forgetting
is a kind of betrayal. clock warps. to self. to forget
that our bodies know the dance
and suffer no fools: the bed is a chalk outline/ a coup/ a nest of
mottled corpses seeping at the bottom of a dumpster/
that if we boulder onto each other again theres the likelihood of
chance: which is a kind of grievance not easily payed.

what have we abandoned that we cannot spare? only what we suffer from/ what is taken/ what is discarded survive.
the gory bits. the ugly ones.
the pieces that become us.