Thought Rocket

Thought Rocket

The hole in my chest is never mending. 
It’s pulsing again as gravity pulls more dread 
into orbit. The atmosphere by my sternum 
makes the falling bits catch, ethanol accelerates. 
We look disapprovingly at satellite imagery,
providing boundaries from collar bone
to my intercostal space.

The cage rattles and I sense the twelfth rib’s disconnect,
starting like the rest and floating alone in the cavity, 
near my kidney where the collapse started.
Call in the Corp, let’s try to raise some constructs,
pins and rods, a beam across to bear the load.
Strap prayers to the thought rocket and let some 
outside help tend to the incoming flak, while I hunker.