Day 22

Fragmented

for T.S. Eliot

Just cut me in two, will you?

Or

Staple that stain to my sleeve, Barbie Q.
burger shack in St. Lou.
And then tie a rolled trouser leg around Oxford.

Or

You could just set ablaze
the war zone I had paved
and all the muck I sorted through-

Ruin me.


Me.-
Fragmented but vaguely familiar.
Stagnated but achingly delicate.


I hear the words of silly women
traveling in hives, buzz, buzz, buzz
what are they saying about me?

“...birth, death, and copulation”
I say under my breath.
"That is all there is."

So just cut me in half- fragmented.

Me.-
Fragmented but vaguely familiar.
Stagnated but achingly delicate.

Some would say I loved myself too much.
Whoever that was.
A man who feared women in drawing rooms.

Me.-
Fragmented but vaguely familiar.
Stagnated but achingly delicate.
A “self-conscience and make-believe Englishman.”