always a break 

in the thumb, 

some skin 

slogging off, 

or the winded creak

of my wrist, 

all the bad 

& beaten hinges 

of the stars 

so barely held 

in by my body. 

no one 

drives into me 

a nail 

to tie a tether. 

the turn of the elbow,

the junction 

of the neck: 

mealy with pain.

discomfort 

fiddled 

thru the femur, 

the knee. 

hips rotating 

like deadbolts 

turned over. 

sick in the morning

or noon or night. my heart 

that squeezes 

in my chest, 

snared 

& then pistoning

lopsided

for 10 breaths. 

i strip off 

the glove, 

yellow buckskin, 

& over my mouth 

i press the back of my hand

just to feel 

the flighty tremor 

register, 

that urgent prattle 

as it gallops thru me 

& never burns off.