collarbone

i stood inside this bag.
tangled in a string
five months long desperate to breath clean air.

turned the page to discover
the liberation of newness.

the catch is sabotage, but

attempting telepathy seemed easier in the books.

all the voices come in cracked
.
now see through glasses 

of irreversible, stomping, time.

I am hungry for a hand but

I feel so small

here in this

box you have

carved for me

Yesterday

I hooked the collarbones of my chest

on two metal j's

and hauled myself up above the clothesline.
I am pinned up to dry,

I am left for the crows to pick

and still hungry.
forever guilty for taking seconds
--
for falling prey to 10 mangled fingers.