shot

shot

Truth is once you step off it don’t own you no more  it don’t
touch none of your exposed ankle bone or tongue the wet cough

of a groan the motor in your throat chokes over the low water

your boat of skin as old sleep slow as old dream after the screech

of breaks and the weight of Keflex drops you in the branches hands

  of medics open you right there in the mud of it all and shuck you

like scallops like they’re  lifting and sifting for pearls imperfect

through the bellies of clams beards of mussels battlefield gut shot

and truth is after the shock’s thrummed out after you step off you

  don’t own you and don’t owe it whatever it is nothing you can skip

bounce unzip your skin swim