The Human Condition

I used to believe in magic. Too
many times. I have watched blood
disappear and reappear into an arm
etched with loneliness. But I
was not a magician.
I have watched skin hold bones
too close, and the bones still
groaned desperately in captivity
as my stomach shrank to give more space.
But I was not a magician.
I have watched two souls merge and
split apart. No blood on the knife
that did the cutting. But I
was not a magician.
I couldn’t bring you back with rocks
and bones, or blood and songs, or
salt and water from my insides.
I am not a magician.
My soul spills out its own spells
in real time offerings of flesh and time.
But I am not a magician.

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