Shearing season

My heart has not dissolved
in the way you seemed to have planned it
a bicarbonate tablet in a glass of water
the effervescence rising from the top of the glass

My heart is not in tatters or torn
simply vaporized
turned to bubbles
that pop when you speak

Each word every word
biting and relentless
every cruelty
piling up like sheepskins

Shear me again
there is still some left
maybe you’ll cut flesh
this time, mister

I am part of the air now
until I am solvent
I am not defeated

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