I can’t do that.
(a blackout poem)
I stayed home
working against progress,
I said nothing.
I expect
shaking,
tightening my veiny hands.
Fight back.
The spine
I probably didn’t even have.
Release.
Years I had
opportunities to learn, desire.
Building muscle alone.
I pressed play.
It doesn’t compete anymore.
Shrink.
I, in the living room.