Working at the Clinic

weird shadows of men you don't know anymore
plastic sequins adorning pictures of my ex
my matchstick past half created
mostly white glue scraped off
a doppelganger of dead skin
if I could keep you from being hurt
prime motive in this libido of pain
so much that won't explain itself
life is a feast of requests
someone telling me what they want
ora pro nobis; a dr. named Small a dr. named Good
life cracks in its bindings, pages lost casually as memory
no free money, no protection
story says get it straight
learn to hold still without dying
who can do these specifics?
my life is edged with pregnant women.