Exit: lacerated, unspiraled, he falls up
on a stronger center—a beautiful mass of half
real ligaments connecting flesh and mind.
She sighs: find a rumor’s middle
to become an inward ghost—and there’s a price
for finding somewhere else: “It’s leaving and being lost.”
Enter: tended, curled, he sleeps on
chaos veins of recast thoughts—all unsure measures
full of finality and reasons.