the weight of decision in your hands
Taking the shape of a preferred tool 
one you can never drop 
the option always thumbed 
in the pockets of conscience ; 

mine takes the shape of a carpenter's hammer,

tho, I've never been much for building;
I've never been much for intended purpose 

a hammer: crashing into side conversations and 
cracking teeth, flipping them inwards 
forcing ingestion, choking on gesticulations mid-gape
mid gasp, clawing and prying 
pulverizing , opened wide in terror 
closed into rest: cessation 

reopened just to make sure 
these insides are the same as mine 

a hammer: fixing problems, climbing hills 
sealing coffins 
prying apart families and friends 
sealed off under casket lids and penned back
by portrait photos no longer resembling their names 

a hammer: the tool palmed in haste, pacing in rooms 
walled in by indestructible questions 
ill-equipped, now, to pry up the nails of
'why are you looking at me like that?' 

an implement whose failures are measured 
in the erasure of relationships 
cast off into the night 
irradiated and slough'n skins
shadows of embraces with visitation rights 
to your heart ;

these are the phantoms that wont be banished
by the weight and iron cacaphony 
by weeping, gnashing teeth 
frothing mouths and coiling muscles and
blood in the bathtub

a hammer can't explain away the nature 
of the dirt under your nails 
nor can it ever quell 
the incessant pounding in your own chest 
and dryness in your mouth 
a silent anaphylaxis to questions going unanswered : 
"Where did you sleep last night?" 

and yet to be answered by more 
then a tightening jaw 
creaking, leathery hands 
fixation on a stain on the floor 
hammer: an absence, a penance 
a tool forgetting what it was to be 
made to build.