DIG

Dust storm. And I missed it. The bullet shot...went through my skin and twisted.
 All the way -in-to my/the bone. 
Buried/////Resurfacing years later through your inquiries. 
Why yes-
I've always ached this way
Just as an archaeological dig takes years- not days.
To discover all the hidden= once living/ now dead species. 
By the time you reached me..... even my bones had begun to di si nt egr ate. 
Oh the shame.
The dust. 
The wind. 
The big bang-it took my body to SEE the errors of my (way.)
With wounds left open
and acts beyond middle school charades.


You like to think it and imagine all the ways I have gone about this:


life the wrong way.


 He's singing songs about a stale heart and a fallen braid. 


I felt the shift the first day the earth quaked. Of all my uncertainties: certainly there is a crowded line wrapped around the parking lot of my emotions.  


And how does one become a ghost in the first place? There was the ugliest trail leading me to all of my answers. I stalled and just stared at the ground....looking up is not looking" up" these day.




so it seemed...