Hospital Segmental(s) 1 of 5

Have you ever peed into a handheld plastic urinal
while typing love poetry? A woman’s name, 100 cc.
A description of broken glass, 200 cc. The depth a blade
can piece a human back, 350 cc. Have you ever peed
into a plastic urinal while stuck in a comfortless bed?
This one has. Me. I’ve filled three urinals. Four urinals.
Countless. Their flimsy plastic lids unhappily flapping.
All the passion. All the warmth. All the betrayal.
The dribbles and spills. How many yellows are there?
My love has seen, produced, survived, the deepest cloudiest
amber to the lightest clearest straw. Daggers of broken trust
don’t only drink blood.​ Lipstick is but one passion
stain. And at 1000 cc, events can become unpredictable.

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