Image: Cenotaph to Newton, Etienne-Louis Boullee, 1784

Here lies a traitor body
Here lies a body of betrayal 
This body lies:
Sounds without source
Daggers with no impaler

I remember before—
A head that didn’t tease nightly implosions 
Ears that didn’t shriek 
Legs I could trust 
Eyes that saw true
Memories I could walk on 

I took care of this body—
Exercised obsessively much of my youth 
Never perfect, but taking pride in treating this body well. 
I walked so confident 
Thinking all that investment would erase any trauma. 

But now

I am so angry at this body. 
Vengeful, even.

I asked a doctor if he could make it deaf 
I meant it 
Sitting on a couch 
Feeding
An outward gravestone marking
The empty tomb of a person vanished
Inviting foreign bodies into it
Out of spite
In pain and out of pain 
I stare at walls no one sees

Imagining ways to punish it
To bury it
This body lies and waits for my escape
I lie and wait for my escape

After all, there’s more than one way to bury a body.