, , , , , , ,

Mornings I wake; hidden pain in long healed
bones. Cracks in my jaw. Cracks in my skull. Pills

numb things for a bit, but things left unsealed
rarely close again. Pain’s old joke: its thrills

provoke raunchily … is true … at times. Pain
pushes me far beyond comfort. “Touch this,”

I could say. The metal that grazed my brain
left an odd groove in my scalp. One more kiss

that warns how bones can be altered, structures
reshaped. I could show you, but I won’t. Raw

nerves make me horny and cranky. I’m both
Pandora and her Box; teasing fractures

that will not heal. Broken skull. Broken jaw.
My own dear devil in the undergrowth.