Perhaps we are all translated, transformed in
our travels, turned in our journeys, changed
in our exchanges every day. But I am broken.
A single synapse moved and settled
different quadrant of
altered. No one will
know. No one will notice.
Not even I will see
my losses. I am
full of light, full
of space as empty
the space I
It is the
in this moment
A patchwork person stitched with science put forth on a
teleporter—leaving lightyears littered with precious pieces.
A specimen of success destroyed by destiny, destination.
Broken. Rent. I return here and now—only somewhat whole.
© 2021 by Kimberly BMW Wade
About the Author