Limb

and humans describe it like
the loss of a limb, but
that doesn’t quite do it
does it? doesn’t
begin
to describe

this reeling, this silent pealing
within, without a
you, without
a me, without a Bald Man

who is now without a
me, and who is
now without a
we, and
who is no longer

says (to me) you were the
opposite of pain, you were a way
to feign joy, a
way to be
me, he

always felt (permanently) as though
he had lost not just
a limb, but
everything, had let
me, us, down, had turned around

this problem in his head (contrived)—
how to find an external thing
to help him
survive, to

help him forget, and
yet kept
forgetting—

there is so much to miss, and
yet all of it, all of this, I can
barely remember
except—

us curling, us being us always
us, the places we smelled
and lived in together
will remain places
we smelled and
lived in
together, and we

will wake every morning to find
a you, a me, a
this, forever—

there is no tomorrow
no yesterday, no
future or past
or loss, only—

the same grass the same
sky, the same sins

the same stone, the same spots, the
same piss, the same
thoughts, the
same limb