Ode to morning pain

You live within its winnowing circle.

a dead baby in my cough”
“a vaulting pole crushed within my spine”
“scalding bits of broken glass inside my knee”
“electric shocks delivered with a branding iron”
“incompatible with having a self”
“like nothing you could imagine”

You take medicine apart and find its wings,
hidden under the carapace thorax. You can
no longer imagine being devastated by death.

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This entry was posted in human suffering, poetry stuff. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Ode to morning pain

  1. Whoa! Those are scary phrases. But, yes, then I feel the wings.

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