Rust

All the mistakes I’ve made

Infect me like oxidation

Breaking down my resolution.

My convictions become brittle reminders

Of what I once took in stride.

Rust works

On flesh and bone,

On synapsis,

On standing up and sitting down,

Its little granules grinding away,

Especially at the old welds,

At the old confidence and strength.

Memory and thought and things I knew

Begin to leak and flake.

My ability to name things

Loses its resiliency.

The internal structure has begun to weaken,

Will eventually lead to collapse.