Nothing Much

But of course you were always nothing. No thing. A red-hot rocket, patriotically bursting in my veins. Showers of stars—cascading stars behind closed eyelids. A searing brand across my forehead. Nothing of importance. A four-letter word stenciled on the flesh of my inner thigh. Stomping through my brain's mush valleys. Strewing a halt of new loyalties. My life, so I say nothing much.