A poem about the fragility of my attention.
Brains have bones.
That’s dumb, right?
Except—how else
to explain the form
of my thoughts,
the broken-ness of
my attention?
It explains a lot,
how goddamn lost
I get in this head,
to learn that I broke
the bones in my brain.
The bones in my brain
give shape to my thoughts.
They stitch a matrix
of feeling to experience,
of idea to intuition.
The bones in my brain
are apt to snap.
What a wonder
they reset so quickly!
My wife told me
“Brains have bones”
one recent morning
and when I stopped
chuckling, I thought:
bones in my brain, yes.
