his words grow teeth
so sharp
they chew through their own meaning.

I try not to hear it. Not to —
but inside,
I hold still

as his sting folds itself smaller,
finding the hollow
I keep for it.

What’s that?
What the fuck is that?!
All my life I’ve carried a man on my back

and now my psychiatrist turns out to be a sex addict using hard drugs on the regular dating homeless underaged gay boys without a passport or a solid

future.
Now what’s your next project, sir.
Dieing? Fixed.

You know – My girl is in the crawlspace again with a plastic shovel red as her periodic wreckages digging until the frost gives her back her breath and a bunch of children.

Yea.
I’m a little down.
and I can’t get out —