my heart is made of tv static
white noise
disallowing any real
hurt or joy
sometimes
at the bottom of a bottle
the last swallow
swishing
down my throat
the static clears
and the black hole
that is my heart
spits up every hurt
out of my lungs
and into my eyes
YOU ARE READING
digital dance - poetry
Poesieyoure not alone in the way you scream at a god who hears but does not understand or care to learn
