Pieces

Pieces

Enclosed in this brown box
they all decline to unlock;
you shake yourself, hear

fragments rattle; last night,
you contemplated non
being; this morning your fingers

fumble with the tumbler that
might (or might not) open the box
turn back the clock, remove the

ticks tocking, breath sticking
lodged in your wind piping
you, a walking “somebody do

something,” perambulating
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SSRI; you, Billy Pilgrim’s hello

goodbye, in and out of time.
you, sandpapered surface
raw tender to the touch and

always too much, too much
the patient who climbs atop
the table, requesting “please

open me up” with no takers;
you the broken; you the breaker;
trailing bread crumbs from meals

uneaten; you beaten down but
most of all most of all most of
all you, solitary confinement

minus the obligatory hour’s
exercise in the yard; you
the flexible, you the hard in

all the wrong places; you the
faces, a montage of your roles
run jump splice by jump splice

unrecognized by yourself on
the screen; because none
of you fits together. none

of you fits. none of your
exhausted bits will make
the ultimate cut.

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