REDUCTION



such wondrous beginnings of terror,

the old familiar sting of waking limbs,

waking life,

and other burdens of a cautious approach.



i don't tend to stop those few who make me feel.



dredges from a numb vacancy,

making that sharp impression

like fingernails in soft clay,

breaking like dirt in another's hands.




i needed to be your broken shards.

just for a time, and not longer,

before the kiln scorches and hardens.



it makes the tearing of two parts

equally necessary.