where there is glass (20161229)

i thought there were no more
broken places in me
but as i shifted my weight
i heard the tell-tale
tinkling of shattered glass
the whispering of lacerations

17 thoughts on “where there is glass (20161229)”

    1. Thank you! It’s strange how we find ourselves made of rice paper when we think we’re made of more resilient fabric.

    1. I’m glad it made some kind of connection. I have a problem with sharp things, it seems, at least in my poems. I keep coming back to them.

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