Who hasn't left an exoskeleton?

No one remembers the girl who made improbable
speeches. She’s like those locust shells
she used to find on trees in Missouri. A relic
to rival the Sex Pistols.

In August, the scars hurt a bit more. School kids.
The cycle relentless. I meant to achieve something
definitive. Wall hangings. An entire bookshelf of my canon.
I’m probably kidding.

What is the ego for anyway? To spurn us?
Do we have it
for absolution?
I think I am more fish now
than mammal. Comfortable in cold, sunken places.

Sometimes just being alive makes me feel like a soldier.

My devotion alternates between simple and searing.
How often can I go on
disappointing you?

If I were straightforward, I’d have a slogan.
Literal and plain as farmland.
Catchy and charming as pop songs.

It’s just love, isn’t it?
Common as glass
bottles. So why the fissure? Why the luminous sheen?

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