Shiver

The heart has no skin: a lack exactly the source of its fragility—

vulnerable to stretch marks from since deflated largeness

to feel even numbness

what pictures fill gaps lived unreal

to pile on layer after layer of suffocating atmosphere:

unmasked statements pulled under sweat-ridden cover

            sinking unconsciousness to sleep with rocks

titular manpower, grabbing at microscopic straws

with shrinking fingers clumsy attached to swollen arms

attached to nothing

blow up the house of cards into diamond and heart shrapnel

that limps wintery behind spring dragged, back by summer

            buried in spine quieting snowflakes once unique

            now compact and indistinguishable