PS. This is Not a Love Poem

You would never think this a love poem

Shoes are sitting in their stand,
watching how the fingers will fall
where it would, when.

And the jaw has already insulated itself. Pain must

hurt thinks the bulky brain. Pain hurts. The heart beat is rhythmic against naked chest.

This tune is so used to itself now, it’s bored. The pace starts slow, goes slooooooow then fast, fst, st.

It is always how the toes bend that breaks the shoes.
Like they are bowing.
Where is the audience for this performance

And the tears spill
And then the silence
And you would never think you just witnessed

someone being loved. Brutally.

A happy new year! I hope amongst other things we find interesting and life-changing work on here to read and discuss. I pray I write some of those.