Housed in the throat
of the juggled will
of youth, I can only sing
when I remove the past
from my mouth
or chance a swallowing
& because of that
my fingertips are always
caked in what happened
when I was regarded
only by a small army
of women that knew
better than to let me
open my mouth at all.
I thought the flux
was devastation
& yet,
nothing left
the shallows
& nothing left
the gristle behind.
All of that fat
& yet,
we all move
incredibly well
for having lived.
Random tarry, a heart
for all of the piercings
that caught my eye
like they meant
there might be a whole new
constellation amidst them.
Darren C. Damaree is the author of six poetry collections, most recently “Many Full Hands Applauding Inelegantly” (2016, 8th House Publishing). He is also the Managing Editor of the Best of the Net Anthology and Ovenbird Poetry.