My Knees
My Knees The months spent by your bedside left me scavenging for healthy bits and pieces of my own body. A week could pass before I found a foot among the ruins you left at Treblinka. And when it took two months to find an arm I’d crack and fall apart again. Now, I do not bend my knees. My hours are crowded with escaped cocks my mouth shapes and puts back together with reinforced steel. © Sergio A. Ortiz, May 27, 2010