nearly five years old
my nephew plays
with a stethoscope
a fully functioning
auscultatory device
not just some toy
of unavailing plastic
and purposeless rubber
lost to his imagination
he holds the chest piece
against my sternum
the diaphragm cold
even through my shirt
making me pull away
momentarily
out of instinct or habit
even though
it is not needed
he sits listening
concentration tight
across his brow
with very real concern
as he informs me
that he can't hear anything
that i must just have
no heart at all

it seems
the blue lights
drift ghostly
past the windows
more often
these days
each occasion
bringing with it
a momentary
fleeting interest
in where
the drama is
currently residing
at who's pillow
might be
tear-stained
through the night
at who's door
fear and anxiety
are being permitted
to step inside
at who's house
has become
a closed film set
waiting to be
stripped of content
until only
walls doors windows
and memories
remain
but
as commercials end
attention returns
once more
to a stronger
more constant
source of
blue light
and all present
are thankful that
at least
the banshees
that wailing of sirens
has been silenced
in time

Parts of his existence:

A vessel; is a magic that flows through its veins— the color of my cheeks and the color of his madness

A certainty; all flesh and bone, sutured and bruised; we can be made of cracks, somehow.

and my heart, he had it all as black holes grew in my chest (as if the vacancies could be filled by his existence)

for me, he is insatiable
as I was always heartless.

I see you don't like me
My cordial mild mannered disposition failed
I didn't mean to stand out
It's not that I'm different
Honest
Just highly antisocial....  
Yet your giving me a hard time anyway  
How it must feel to have me in a bind
Well it's nothing new  
Another Cross to bear
Anyway soon we might part ways
No it's not you ,
it's  me I guess...