Do you care if my soul comes in pieces?
A string attached to spine
Rolling around in a messy wash
Of leftover nails and splinters
Gathered here in my left hand
From a botched carpentry project.
I shot straight,
I climbed high,
I read the books on ethics,
And there beyond my grasp was hidden
A melodramatic stretch of time
That scratched itself
Over dusty chalkboards
And caught again my web
String attached to spine.