Poem from the Vault: Faking


When the distance

between the inside of my stomach

and the outside of my mouth

is too close

to be comfortable;

It occurs to me

that what I want

and the things I do

are often very

far apart.

That I can’t always pretend

to like

something that repulses me.

One day I know

that the trash I have swallowed whole

and the empty shells I have spat out


like ghosts return

to kick me

where I am

most hollow.

[Originally published in Jittering Microscope #4, 1992]

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