The Situation

There is a broken planet
Slipping from my nostrils,
Fractured fragment by jagged piece.

I am bleeding somewhere inside;
I cannot feel my ribs. I am missing
More than the one Eve stole
In a fit of jealousy (I do not believe
The rumor that god created her from it).

There are too many questions;
For some reason I suspect these slivers
Raining from my face will form needed answers.
I hold my hands below my nose and catch,
In my palms, each shard as they drip–
Carried downward by the gravity of the situation.

Copyright 2012
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen