God forgive me my restless mouth.
What hunger lies in turmoil behind
my lips—
I have ached terribly.
Contusions of the soul, the blood
beneath the skin.
The bone beneath the flesh.
The body beneath the weight.
Shaken free from the tree;
the fruit has been rotting.
I am no longer human.
I do not know if I ever was.

- a.a.j