We Are (Not) Awake

Look,
Here are the girls in flannel
Lanky and alone.

Look at the rust crusting their elbows
(Scraped raw)
The rust around the corners of their grins
(All carved out)
The rust and spit in their sighs
And on the songs they breathe

They sing,
“Let them forget me.”

Look,
Here is a map
To the jigsaw of blood and breaks
And bluffs
On their rust red lips

Look,
Here is the sheet music
To that yawning cacophony of hope and hate and hurt in their voices
And in the slouching shape of their shoulders.

Well. Look again.

Because we are not
hurt;

Because this is not a
bluff;

Who is forcing you to look   a   w   a   y      ?

Look,
There go the girls in flannel
Lanky and alone.

They sing,
“Let them damn me.”