p o e t r y

w h a t i t o l d t h e d o c t o r

the eyes aren't reliable
not windows, nor mirrors
my ears have eroded
leaving two broken telephones
my hands have embraced what they always have been;
two grasping panics, two torches to everything i once loved.
feet, nothing more than two rocks most days
& my heart has developed some kind of amnesia, where it remembers everyone else's and everything but itself