What Hurt Feels Like

give every blank on

the crossword puzzle the

name your mother labelled you so you could show her what you felt like the next time she [doesn’t] call(s) you an eccentric phone booth is calmer under a broken streetlight you name every dishevelled feeling after a dead disclaimer like it

doesn’t stir awake most nights you have never broken a

bone before so how would you know what hurt feels like the only pain you remember is

what the bathroom floors recite this third floor motel room is three blocks from home four from the station you tell yourself if it wasn’t pouring ankle-deep you’d turn yourself in for self-treason but it is

so you don’t and you

can’t remember if there was

a phone

"The Flow 72" by Diana Kroshilova.