Breaking Through

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BREAKING THROUGH


A few snag it on a sheet or are shoved

from behind and don’t have to decide. 


They are the prophets. Most wrap it  

in gauze and convince themselves 


they’re fine. You’ll find some of us, 

though, inhabiting in-betweens as un-


sanctified as the middle seat of a sedan 

or sitting absent-minded at the kitchen 


island, interrogating the sharp edge 

of the scab we’re too weak to yank off 


but refuse to let heal, forced to satisfy

ourselves in sucking—one drop 


at time—that slow letting of the real 

that persists in pulsing beneath.


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