i am fourteen, but no one covers that belly cough.
 
screen white in window-slat-high-school dark,
desk rows slanted, all torn up and circled round.
colors sing it’s anime club,
so
let’s watch a
          shelled-out torso,
                    well of core,
                              spill across the pavement.
          Snowden-style ropes of child wave and wink with blood.
 
why balk at a five-second-misery?
it’s just five seconds
 
out of many worse and worse seconds.
 
 
i am fourteen and fourteen. i think sometimes
of an asphalt hunch and what it looks like to bend down and
neatly
fold up your intestines, hold up your intestines to your heart.