my body is plumbed,

a vertical wasteland,

comparable to

a compressed chest,

some grey weight
cloudy and sleepless,

against the gut

which breathes

of its own accord.

a picture of health
three tablets a day,

my mother’s grip around

my midriff,

sweaty sheets

imposing, like rubber
praying don’t move,

sweet body, stay still.

blue light

when the night falls

like swallowing whole
the first cigarette

my father smoked,

the one that set off the addiction.

such healthy bodies,

a pair of lungs so tight
and a pack of prescription pills.

with spots mottling the skin

gathering dust,

I am segmented

carefully.
such healthy bodies

composed of half-forged things