anatomy of an empty person

the crisping air
has a jaw on the dining table

spoon-feeding it whiskey

from under a flowery tablecloth
(one of death's first robes)


it's been a long night:
a night growing longer

and the rain
rattles the windows
in tune with an
inconsistent ticking
coming from
a bruised
rib cage


there are scratches
blending into the wallpaper
and bone fingers
disappearing
into the trim





you've never pretended to be so afraid

so i tell you to wait while i
bundle the bed sheets
and
dust the crumpled paper
from the floor

and we were like that

just like that

empty

always