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PoetryRecovery

Cold empty room
drafty chills
turning couch cushions
cold - I am
using iced fingers
to cradle warmth
unsuccessful exercise
long shadows
form oblong thoughts.

I wrapped my wounds
with definitions
an autographed cast
I can't get close enough
to read it.
Tell me what my arm says
about the universe;
from my vantage point
there is only
skewed angle chicken scratch.

Solar plexus throb
headache to the side
of the crown
heart sneezes -
I am chakra misalignment
scoliosis never allowed me
to sit up straight
when meditating
my teachers would always curse
when I laid down;

I am not seeking peace
in full lotus
my mind is clear
except for the specters
in the shadowed corners
of this expansive room
of my scattered mind
I hurt too much to transcend
the pain of this
I don't hurt enough -

to transcend the pain of this.
Once -
I found solace in bleeding
red oozing out;
a sign of living.
The sharp hurt -
focal point of fractured concentration;
turned to numbness,
nerveless -
an old scab.

This is not
that kind of pain
it is a deep ache
and a throb
that beats with my pulse
crushes against my ribs
when I breathe -
in, out
in, out -
it has me anchored here.

I cradle against
cold fingers for warmth
futile exercise
gaining an internal emptiness
osmotically through
this drafty old room
lighting poor
unlit mind
the shadows form
oblong thoughts.

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