holes

my sister
calls me
to show me
a hole in her foot,
and she’s like:
what do you think this is,
as I nurse my cavernous life,
the one I want to begin with you.
why are you smoking that thing?
(she disapproves of my new habit.)
My addictions aren’t that bad,
I just listen to music for every mood
I’ve never been able to explain.
Today I sunk into strong black females
because they’re the only ones who
seem to know how to heal the world.
I cleaned my whole apartment to them,
I jumped around to women on the loose
with a rope so big it scraped the ceiling.
I bought a bike to ride the chorus line
away from everything I’ve known.
During the work day, it’s wordless,
bottomless, foreboding piano,
and when I’m missing you,
it’s the sound of whatever
is currently killing me.

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