Thursday, February 6, 2020



Gallbladder socked in like a bullet in bark.
Liver left cupped where I carved it out.
Oozes and seeps from the raw surface
But I have tricks for that.
Put it in a bag.
Pull it out.
Plop it in formalin.

It’s not a story to tell
Around the dinner table when your 
Wife and kids ask, “how was your day?”
(Actually just the wife,
The kids have other things to say).
You can’t take it home
Or display it on the mantel,
Not even the yellowed corn kernel stones.

Rinse it out.
Close her all up.
Dictate what you did
Before the details dissolve
In the solvent of repetition.
You’ll never come round these parts again.

Next case same as the first
Just in a completely different universe.
They’re all the same
While insisting on a silly particularity.
I use a template except for the parts
You have to free hand from memory.

Measure out a perfect box.
Now draw absence.
Sketch your best guess of being.
Then finish it off with love.


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