I am finished with beauty & money Close the gap between us which is imaginary but nonetheless I’ll put your position into my poem: Luton Premier Inn with temporomandibular jaw I may never share my google calendar again The scars within him are much more frightening than the scars on his body There’s a hint of superiority Being Alive Staying Alive Strangled into Being If we break-down the ethics of listening Surrender bloated poems Loving you until there is no cartilage left Can’t quite look at men my own age yet w/ their cumbersome flirting My working hand writes this poem & calls out to the complexities of entanglement What has happened to you is everywhere on the lips of strangers tiresomely & I’m never sure if they are talking about my faith or my body But at least the body can count metrics & clean up its act Who knows where we might turn in negation The war in my body has something to do with this entourage of medics who are past caring Put this in your mouth Use this for your impulse Put this slantwise