My Body’s a Single, Tangled Cord or Once Moon-Shaped – J.L. Moultrie

September 17, 2025

Waded through karma and symbols I can’t pretend
to bear. A single blush inward – subtle forms of
repair. Mind’s a hushed room filled to the brim. Ran
from who I was, wary of [REDACTED] again. You
spoke of patterns and the intent of the universe. How
invention’s a line drawn from thirst. I didn’t tell you
I was nearly aborted. Or stole food because I couldn’t
afford it. The only sky that could be seen was deep
vermilion – anterior hidden. Who are we when
unperceived? Intimacies vexed from places you
wouldn’t believe. I wasn’t prepared to realize this
was goodbye. Numb to the inheritance I’d become.
Didn’t hear my therapist over the violent hum. You
spoke of nights when salvation may actually come.
My inner child’s bleary eyed and heavily guarded.
The knights inside wear blood-slick armor. A lurid
will guided me to the doorsteps of strangers. Still
vivid – subsisted on not being seen. Neighborhood
cats bore witness to cycles of danger. Pockets deep
but empty. Picked up ten-speeds from lawns. Hadn’t
seen dawn all summer. The questions came in forms
of escape. Spoke and ate at churches. My conscious
mind was flesh made whole. Became enmeshed with
whomever I met. Beset by intentions like an ocean
open yet forbidden. Mom woke early to go to the
clinic. Dad was given sentence. I was suspended –
the sounds of sirens and a subconscious I let go of
in mosh pits. Like a feral wing – rudders splitting a
water’s surface. In February, the furnace wasn’t
working. ER nurses gave me a tray of breakfast.
Feeling returned to my hands. The common frailty
of heavy fetters. Those parts of me starved for an
abrupt end stir from dormancy.