Quantifying instruments and parts required
Numbered out with detailed maps and layers
Of reassuring safeguards, symmetry assured
Construction’s completion like an afterthought
A piece was left out
Stranded under the tire of a pickup truck
Flipped into the front lawn of a suburban road
Concrete sidewalk and staggered back
Screaming and bleeding awash in red
No one noticed the hole in the chaos
The egg shell, the motor, the body’s pump
Drained from the exposure, seventy-seven percent repaired
Consolation remedy of all that is there
Adolescence, years whirlwind around
In three-hundred and sixty degree fears
Of peripheral conjoining breaking clear
That there is segregation, a fraction of self
Absent, that can not connect
That can not find a slip where my puzzle peace fits
An alley for a side street to park and meet
To slow this snowball down, to warm the extremities
And carve to a core that so much time has passed
A body has grown to where it can no longer see frost bitten feet
The superficial is a foreign language as polarity is reversed
This far off course there is no pedantic or frivolous discourse
No sounds on Thursday afternoons to shatter the silence
How to here?
Directions, seven hundred steps
And counting the protection sought is mounting
All or nothing wanting empathy before breath
Begging for forgiveness in the eyes of skin
Holding, wanting an end
Tired of the mistaken egress, Blown truck tires, looking for the leak
With a flash light in the night to plug the escape, keep on moving before it breaks
Searching for the hole to patch trapped under the wheel
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