When I Think Of Ethical Quandaries I Massage My Ulcer Until It Sings…

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I was
At birth.

With placenta.

As the nurse
Cleaned off
The prayer

I felt despair
For the first time.

Positions on morality
Braced for the residual gibberish
That establishes
From is’s.
I responded
By weeping
In the car seat
During the car-ride home.
I wept
In the crib, I wept
While suckling on
My mother’s breast. I wept
Until the air went silent
And I discovered the pulse
Of invisibility.

When I think of
What’s implied

I swallow it
As gossip

And digest it
As poetry.

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