i still feel it—i do

a little
but nothing hurts
like it should
the bullets
the blades
they just go
through and through
a little twitch
like a snagged sleeve
quick movement, deep inside
like a needle sliding out
in the dentist’s chair
i stagger
i know
i’m hurt
but i can only
stumble on…
put a shotgun to my belly
pull the trigger:
tell me he’s in love with someone else
and i will fall
to my knees
and weep
or at least
cold black trickles
running down
my face
i can feel the rage
i can feel the shame
i can see
a gaping tunnel
blasted straight through
over which
i grieve
but still i rise
still i move
still i hunger,
on and on
and on
the flame–cold power
of seeds in winter
will not let me die
and so
my eyes plead
and my heart whispers
the zombie’s prayer:
O Great Power
Whose Name i Do Not Know
please, Lord
just let me fall.