"Hot Air" by Nate Maxson

If language is defined by the wounded

And exists separate from its substance

Within the wound itself

Then why is it

The older I get the more I want to either scream or sing

The way I used to do it


But can’t anymore?


The answer has to do with negative space

A song with the wrong lyrics

Some old hymnal or folk song from the 1970s

The storms of June shall now pass on


Or something like that


It takes a lot to admit

When I need a medical professional

Or a butcher with a religious background

And kindly eyes,

To open me up

And diagnose the hole where the world used to breath

Through me


The pale sky

And the wind


The pale sky

And the water


Doctor it burns when I cry

This time

I am swallowing

My pride

Like I really mean it