Collected Piece

　　Nothing more than the casting off of a worn-out garment

　　Like an old friend—asks for a little too much cash, finishes the carton, sings off-key to songs I know a little too well—the pain has visited for far too long. Adopted the guest bed as her own and flirted with my crush. But there is no pain here. There are no pins—all the needles have been lost. The crutch of fear burned in the solar shades. The discomfort of living unevenly faded in the violet chariot of a passing planet. The calm has folded over me like the crush of a child`s waves. The bliss has slipped down my throat like the swish of popping ether. The ache of older bones sunk into the blackness. The sting of the mind brings me gallons of heirloom honey. The press of gravity and Earth living fills my hands with lavish blossoms. This narrative has been purloined without the author`s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

　　Someone collected the pieces

　　while I was away. Pieced through

　　with something smooth like peace.