Paper cuts

(small deaths)

I have been dying in increments—

todo lists and work deadlines,

the comfortable numbness of knowing exactly what each day will bring.

These are the small deaths:

the voice that learned to say

"be practical" and "grow up"

and "that's not how the world works."

But somewhere in New Mexico,

under alien skies and gift shop neon,

I cracked open like a ripe melon,

spill…