houses where we mend
worn-out hearts,
their ages are bent
out of proportion.
I am dislocated,
a crooked arm
placed on love
and snapped with indifference.
Flat yellow skies
greet me in morning lull
their afterglow
siphoned from the stars
and other hurt things.
a pond of silence
a wave of abandonment
a graph of profits
eating out of innocence
I am stuck
in a vortex
where sorrow is a way of life
and smiling
seems unnatural.