splinter raze if everything that makes me who i am is taken away, stolen by some stranger who doesn't know the value of what he has, what's left? maybe the scar tissue is smoother than what used to live in its place. maybe the bone that's been broken grows back tougher and more malleable than before. maybe that limb never works the way it should again. maybe someone hits the resonant head of a trash bin with a sledgehammer all night long, trying to chop down a thing that won't fall, and they call that thunder. maybe something thick and viscous drenches their clothes and they call it rain. maybe lightning is just the sound finding another way to express itself, afraid of not being heard, an angry impulse five times hotter than the surface of the sun. maybe i barricade the front door with the broken parts of other doors made useless by whatever warm hands touched them and asked to enter too many times. maybe i walk through one grey room after another before i find the room that's mine. maybe there's a place to rest that will never be a place to sleep, not because it's uncomfortable, but because it doesn't know my body, and there won't ever be the right meeting of soul carriage and fabric and foam to make us allies. maybe all of this is subject to change. 210812 ... unhinged all of everything is subject to change impermanence 210812 what's it to you? who go blather from