gewgaw
on the attic floor the broken toy lies limbless and starving dust motes scrolling past his thunderstruck eyes his throat dry as kindling a crack of shine through a bowlegged seam in a weary wall wakes him for the first time in days weeks months years and so he shimmies on his plastic belly over the warped floor toward one of his leftover legs takes a chunk out of a thigh a calf an ankle the toes everything tasting fraudulent counterfeit nothing nourishing or containing liquid his arms are the same as mantis wishbones but he sucks on them anyway to get to their marrow eating himself feels perverse idiotic juxtaposed but he wants to live as most people do and when up the steps comes a stump stump stumping he flashes an uncertain gewgaw smile so as not to get more broken again but the shoe has a wide sole like the atlantic sea only made of leather and so his skull conflates rubber cheeks glued inside to inside the last words he says are i still love you and can you please let me know if i’m really your son?
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