anatomical left
a piece of shrapnel.
tell the stories I know how to tell
and their bones malinger
undigested,
ossifying,
packed tight like a swollen lymph node.
roll up all my metaphors and give it a poke
so it rumbles against my insides.
I am looking for a flaw
on its shuddering roughsmooth surface
to pick at like a scab,
reach through layers of skin and eggshells,
to shriek over its blackboard exterior
with bitten fingernails.
underneath I imagine a new skin sheen
pink and plump and waiting.
or maybe just greyness
and fungal spores
and feathers.
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