By morning, Fall is dead

I’m one carriage of many. You’re not alone in neurosis, standing in the shower looking back, embarrassed. Red skin – it’s hot water’s fault. Exhale and two pulses pump against my neck. Why when we’re full do we feel nothing of our bodies? Empty and bones rake against flesh. Frost is a wheeling virus, the sun sets in sheets. Night comforts blades of grass with malpractice. Cold hands over their mouths, the nurse mercy-killing her patients.

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