Floppy SocksMatt Mitchell
has anything ever been more intimate
than becoming stretched out
around the ankle of a jumping leg,
as if a body only knows how to fit
when it sags beneath
what we haven’t touched in so long.
I am undone by all of the ways
there is no light inside the parts of me
by how one person can predict
their own death unintentionally.
like Pistol saying
I hope I don’t play in the NBA for 10 years
and then die from a heart attack at 40
and then doing just that.
they make airplane parts from titanium hips
knocked loose out of cremated bodies;
my doctor says I am at an increased risk
for strokes while on testosterone
just to maybe have a kid
who’ll grow up to look like me.
how are we ever supposed to disappear
when there’ll always be someone left
who still recognizes the hole
in the sky that gets left behind,