Something keeps reopening my heart.
Stitches stretch and burst.
I consider an opening future.
Siphoned down institutional corridors,
cordoned into corners contaminated by
I
thought madness was sight,
the downward path the upward pass
but before I ever reach a peak
the track disintegrates -
slips
from my grasp,
passes
through my wrists.
Secrete a mountain river
(babbling)
through a saline bag.
I choke it with my hands.
My several fingers dig
nails into
its throat.
Close it.
If it lives it will writhe. If not, I won't need to breathe at all.
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