He excavates my collarbone, the
thin skinned recesses, plumbing
my body’s sunken architecture.
St. Augustine in my breast
Beneath its sinkhole
my heart is restless.
The surveyor’s report
The terrain is stable, but uneven,
and the imperfection need not persist.
Let us fix what’s depressing you.
asymmetric lullaby of the EKG
the sweet nurse whispers in my ear
they’ll snap my sad
coax them back
bisecting birthmarked valleys
that fractured the breastplate
Where hair is thin
and bones are thinner