Prodigal Song, Sans Return

When words
make where
out of when
spacetime
bends.

Tell me 
another
story about
a family.
I was in
one of those.

Presence produces
the guilt that 
sticks between
ribs and spine;
play those organs
and watch your mind
heal.

A concrete body
becomes a politics
when it recognizes
parts. Therapy helps.

Call me author.
I'll call you.
I wish I 
did.