I’m different today
than I was two weeks
ago different than I was
before I had surgery
I’m different now that a joint
has been reconstructed
like a castle wall made better
removing bone replacing ceramic
and steel it comes with a
I’m different now
composed of external parts
like a machine under warranty
I’m different today
like I’ve been different
each day since I was born
but now a part of me is under


hang on my fingers
like laundry
they stop short like an
admission of guilt
even metaphors are
bland like heavily milked
coffee words a poet’s tools
are now dull with overuse
unsharppened they hack
at the page haphazardly
like machete wielding guides
in a rainforest
it used to happen like love
but now I’m divorced
from the