Shrapnel

1.19.22

Do I have another one in me?
like some red fruit that
you can fully conceal in the palm
of your hand
but only just

You feel the full of it pulse
like it could
not like a heart
but like a vein in my neck
like the subtle life of truth
carried far from the source
but which keeps its truth somehow
just quietly
and in a special way
because the fount of it is foreign
and far apart

One of what?
	An art.

Do I have another in me?
	In my knee perhaps?
	that I can free with chisel and blade
	that will come when bade
	so that words may be my leash and nothing more

I search like it is war
and shrapnel just slapped into the dirt at my side
“Is there a wound here? Or here?
Can anyone hear
me?”