Body map

The soldiers standing straight to attention
On the parade line of my veins are the oldest;
You can see where some broke ranks,
Went against the grain.

The ladders on my legs gave the soldiers respite,
Elevating my grief to new, alarming heights
Leaving pain standing at the bottom
Bracing the ladders.

The hatch marks on my shoulders are simple:
Do not enter the box unless your exit is free.
There never was a big enough break in traffic
For my mind to turn away.

The single beautiful line down my stomach;
True love, I tell myself, until I notice
It isn’t central; like so much in my life
It slips off to the side.

The tally just above my hip counts the months
Trapped in a self-made prison where I voluntarily
Threw the keys somewhere forgetful;
Eden is so pretty.

The train-tracks on my wrist?
The runaway train passed over them long ago
Boiler erupting at the crucial moment.
We don’t talk about those.