The Absence of Wavelength

Cauterization

On my journey to self discovery, notice —
every word you choose
affect on me, effect of you, like
blood dripping from my hand,
a wound unfelt you could see,
the worrier of fabric of clean things.

you, decidedly dramatic,
when I realize my injury, transgression human,
tiny red scrape and smallest ooze
daubed clean…I’m bleeding all over?
everything?

Words employed
as preventative measure
in struggle of worth
amid a life of inanimate things I stain,
the blood coagulates, clots
as I heal, rather than dispense,
dissipate all over our life —
hold it in?

but wonder
about imagination, the machination
of your words.
Need of narrative control realized, that pride
when you wheel into a wayward construction barrel
struck dead on by your gleaming machine
in a dark night, and report
to my judgment your accident account as merely cosmetic.

yet, I question, as you come clean, the described drivable, your rationale,
that a dent on the bumper, scrapes and hanging trim ripped — flapping
from wheel well while driven —
gives pause about the power of your words.

It needs repairs, insurance claim.
How you limit that drama in these moments,
but your heart must race to avoid disgrace most humanizing.

I’d offer my arms but that would mean…?
insecure? come clean? to me, a bloody savage?
it’s you’re pretty car. but, it’s fine.
No big matter.  Smaller
than the human who severs?

It’s my car, too.

3.4.23

Needs work. Typed on iPhone from a talk-to-text note, edited by arthritic bones.