Casa

 

I had a sense you were dead

in a ditch

dragged & dumped,

eviscerated

skin separated

from bone

on a black street

far from home.

 

You became an omen when they called that day,

the day after the storm on the beach,

where she found the ring,

conspicuous among the beach dander.

Where I kissed the woman who

emasculates

envaginates

vagilates between black and white

now in the gray among the fray

of the world I've left behind.

 

I look at you through the blue

tarp my father panicked to pick

in the basement

on your beds-

Carlos & yours

doubled-up

by the warm, big brown rattle box

that makes your

little big-headed boyfriend

cry in the silence of the night,

when the door is closed.

 

I used to rub the fuzz of your chin,

now split

with teeth broken...

back on the sidewalk-

intestinal token of societies disposable sentiment

regarding my best friend.

 

I needed to see your disembodied

belly.

I needed to remember the way your internal organs felt

in my hands

as I held them-

gently tried to tuck you in.

 

I felt compelled to pick you up

without the polypropylene

powder-free hand condoms

in the purple box

as was suggested.

 

I needed to feel your death

close on my skin.

I needed for one last time

to breathe you in.

 

My baby Ümpfa.

Split

lip

tongue

Broken

teeth

Crushed

hips

Separated

shoulder

exposing your strong,

muscular core.

Eviscerated

stomach

 

That won't go back inside

 

And I still can't believe that you've died.

 

I'm Done

 

 

Copyright © 2010 John M. Chandler (a mine; not yours production)

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