A vacancy occupies 

this cavernous cavity:

where heart, lungs, 

and stomach,

as well as other functioning organs,

would typically be; 

but what exists

is – this space – 

an empty location. 

And in your head placate voice:

a voice you’ve assigned a name.

This name plants interferences

in an attempt to protect

your delicate sensibilities. 

But, what is – is. 

No voice; no game; no

self-devised psychological 

mitigation of feign deterrents

possessing talents 

to reverse engineer

a particular depth of ache

and fragility; of tear laden

prolices – circumlocutions 

best efforted attempts –

to say with great confidence,

“You are a wound

that will never heal.”

This voice validates 

and assures,

Like the denial of a tired whore

as she wraps herself-around 

one last John 

three last John’s before.

Yet, I remain convinced

of this voice’s words

as wisdom incarnate, 

despite decades’ evaluations

logging my data: Blue.