99 cents

We speak in broken stories
over long distance phone calls where we
check the clock too often asking
if this is really worth 99 cents a minute?

Faltering and surging our
conversation is stilted
careening on failing rails we fill the
negative space with reasons
we are enjoying ourselves.

And it’s not for lack of fuel –
unasked questions fester
and compost
at the low curve of my stomach
developing into dirt all too fertile,
southern soil
rooted with jealous entanglements
I can feel the
vines
rising in my throat.

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