Ought

Holding heads,
arms swing hooks
left and right
trying to

connect. Our walls
press together:
I can feel the

warmth. Ever-present
in a way
that speaks softly,
taps its fingers on your
core. Hard-pressed,
grinding teeth
down to the stump;
the distance is

great. Between
my shoulders and
outstretched arms
lie years of

misdirection.