The Fish Are Naked. The Fish Are

If The Doctors Cure Then The Sun Sees It. If The Doctors Kill Then The Earth Hides It. The Doctors Should Fear Arrogance More Than Cardiac Arrest.

Poems Aren't Postcards To Send Home.

I Lay There Silently, Hoarding My Small Dignity. I Did Not Ask About The Gate Or The Closet. I Did Not Question The Bedtime Ritual Where, On The Cold Bathroom Tiles, I Was Spread Out Daily And Examined For Flaws. I Did Not Know That My Bones, Those Solids, Those Pieces Of Sculpture Would Not Splinter.

And Within The House Ashes Are Being Stuffed Into My Marriage, Fury Is Lapping The Walls, Dishes Crack On The Shelves, A Strangler Needs My Throat, The Daughter Has Ceased To Eat Anything.

Love Your Self's Self Where It Lives.