that ‘Fuck!’ that names the moment your future changes shape
“ugh fuck”
the dropped sigh of a long wait in the cold and nothing left
at home to keep you off the couch
“FUCK”
the sudden wall between a diagnosis and paying for its care
“F U U U U C K”
the multi-second shout when the pain isn’t going away, but
you still gotta stand
IV
maybe the say-it-on-the-inhale “fuck” that is the
heat behind your teeth pulling you into someone else’s breath
V
or the “mmm fhuckh” that licks your lips leftover
funk of sweat and laughter lingering in the pulse behind your wrist
VI
or the shout of delight at a twist of somebody’s fate, maybe
yours, maybe mine “Oh, fuck!”
VII
what if this is the fuck that closes roads without cones or
detours, sharp and obdurate
VIII
the kind that drains tomorrow of leftovers and tonight of a
warm kitchen, that takes too much to say
IX
that mostly tastes of numb, always on call, waiting on every
bus, in every inbox, lurking like mold
X
what about the kind that holds words for ransom under piles
of unfolded laundry and empty drawers
XI
in the shard of glass that escaped last year’s broom
XII
the clump of memories the house turned up out of nowhere on
a day that bleeds
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