Yes Indeedy

There are no sirens tonight
Storm windows in place
And the sounds of cold Cambridge
Are lost to the pipes

Steam whining into being
Sputtering into existence
A life so short
Birth is death

There is nothing to hold
Except imagination
Which is lonely and quick
And will not satisfy

The echo is familiar
A resounding hatred
Which bounces off of the surfaces within
A ping of sonar
Sent back to my brain
Reminding me that I am incomplete
Who do I believe myself to be
That I might have this normal thing

I let down my guard
In exchange for moments of pleasure
Afterwards filled with digust
Like the promises a kind man makes
To himself
In the shameful moments
Following weakness
I will not touch my niece again