jerk crash cicatriz

telepathy has taken over. i no longer have to ask where it hurts.
right there behind that uterus ricochet clong, yellow bruises

pattern fate like the hollow blocks of a xylophone.
im thinking of heads shaped like hers.

bald.

pero no puedo pensar asi.

waiting rooms are evil. suspense can break even hunger.
their television yanks through my mind master delete

and commercials with smiling babies present themselves,
like this one, at the most inopportune times.

ive ripped out every prayer written from my
pentecostal years and made promises i wouldn’t

normally keep to turpentine these scars before they were wounds.
i ask for a break. symptoms have grown plump these days.

my worry doll from guatemala understands the secrets,
more than the punching bag she uses when no one is looking.

lungs have lost their job description
and i try to barter with god,

my hair for hers,
a poem for a swollen belly.

no armor could protect her there.
a canyon pain like black tears barracuda.

im thinking of visiting hours and what I would say to her
after vomiting a third time that day.

pero no puedo pensar asi.

my face has more lines since wednesday though.
the napalm burns between my ribs and

she wants to be the god mother to every single
one of my children even more now.

her face tells me everything.
the cancer planet has threatened an invasion.