Brilliant, brilliant, Synecdoche,
Child of Sorrow you hide me.
I’m here, beneath,
Name, Employment, Relationship,
Wealth, Assets, Social Alphabet,
Because it’s better than seeing bare
A spirit flayed with heirloom silverware.
Inheritance lopped off from a branch
Of a tree I hate wholeheartedly
I’d rather shrivel in the grass,
Far from kinship’s rootedness.
If I were alone and completely so
Less of a case would be
For all this arid metonymy.
I am flowing with blood and water
And are not surmised by a part of the whole
Nor by the whole for a part.
Call me child of sorrow.
Not me, not me, Synecdoche.