I have been trying to remember
how to hold hands without sweating.
The act is so far away from
making a fist, but
at least as difficult to do
without practice. The dials inside my skull
fly to warning siren red
when trace heat comes in. Black silhouettes
in the borderlands. Mirage? No.
Ready the armory,
someone is going to die today.
No manual for
the disarmament of skin.
There is a chord you strike in me,
the acoustics within my skull, however,
are terrible.
