Saturday, December 1, 2012

Alexandra Hohmann


I’m in trouble. Again.
My acid mouth spews sandpaper sentences,
controlled by a brazen brain.
But the real culprit is
the heart,
perfectly healthy save for a button-sized rough spot
caged behind the ribs,
calloused and scabbed over
like a wound that never properly heals.
So every time you say
“I can’t make any promises.”
“We’ll see.”
“I don’t know.”
the scab falls off
and the heart aches
and the brain commands
my vile mouth and biting tongue.
My body is the real trouble-maker.
It’s really not my fault.

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