too many peices

laid over too many miles, bone fine dust curling up through the spaces in between
and too many hands scooping in for the rescue
too many surgeons, faces damp behind the masks, too many instruments prying for a crevice
a way in,
a window
a weakness
and too many pieces to cover somehow, part of me is always bare
raw
exposed
and they don't make band-aids for what is wrong with some of us