I am ashamed
I keep worrying
about the next
spot of evil on skin
I should be over
that habit
which has worn
a groove in my jaw
that magnificent hinge
of a doorjamb
I have clenched
into a bombed out
opening inside a face
I should try not to
dwell on the years
of pressure on my shoulder
how my heart
blasts its blood
like a bursting dam
how pain treks
from eye to sinus
to drips that lodge
in epiglottis and how this
might cause choking someday
I am ashamed
of my coughing
and that dry clump
of congestion
in my chest
how does the body
become a tyrant
of Death wielding
a black-tipped whip
O my mother buried
dwelling in your landfill
of bitter love
my artillery of shame
launches its love songs
of dissonance
from this war-torn
building of bones