Results

I am naked
shoulder bone
rib cage
breast plate
and you are peeling
onion layers
of sadness
to mine the core.

Inside you find
hematite and
Hemingway,
publish it all
in a Medical Journal
for Indian boys
at Johns Hopkins,
who remark,
estranged,
that I remind them
of home.

A bird without feathers
nestled into
my neck,
my bleeding liberal heart
and the boys
couldn't understand
what kind of nutrients
were inside
why something would
seek life
in evident decay.

Results were conclusive:
I don't need anything
but you.