Possessed
It hits me hard
like a fist.
How you walk away
after you say
goodbye.
Suddenly
your step is quick
and light,
your feet rise
above the ground.
You lift towards the
sky that
turns radiant blue
as you look up and
smile.
Then
objects begin to drop
through the air,
discarded
from your turned-out
pockets:
Some of my teeth
tipped with flecks
of your skin/
A smooth fat stone I polished
nightly, my love;
a paperweight
to hold you
down/
My fingernails; they
always
grow back/
And a blood-colored
beating thing
the size of a fist
that screams out
as it
falls
at my feet.
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