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.