God or Something Less

Notebook pages and the contagions they
release;
of bitter wars at
peace with
headstones and epitaphs;
late-night cemetery traffic we actively
cause with broken
bottles and un
breakeable bonds.

But since gone are morning daisies,
traded for immortal gates.
But since gone are short-lived longings
oxygen refused
to satiate.
And so young
is this release, the even years between put
me at odds with
anything resembling
God or something less.

A catalyst at best,
demented fable? The
worst.

I wear your heart on my shirt but it’s
somehow lost
sight of
sleeves.

That might explain why I can never
breathe when
you beat against my
buttoned
chest,

a language that suggests
my breath is
extraneous to
being.

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