A shorting man with paper skin,
ringed eyes wild-
his stare electric.
A face immune to recognition
even by those who
once had known him.
On edge from years
of outskirts living,
twitching like he’s bit
a live wire.
Charged and screaming how
this whole damn world
should die.
His sparking starts
as we walk by,
both unobservant
post-breakfast,
dangerously at ease.
Before, my impulse
would be sympathy-
an immediate understanding
that this release is
what a human being must need
after freezing in the cold
and thawing in the heat.
Now, my first and only thoughts
are of how quickly somebody
could tear your flesh
like loose stitched seams-
how your broad chest is really
the only thing between
something sharp
and your thumping heart,
how one wrong move
from a shorting man
could put an end
to everything-
how love
has left me more
selflessly selfish
than I have ever been.
pm poetry 