M.S. Swain "something took aim"

You wear your names
the same way the winter ground
wears soggy leaves
the same way trees
only look like they’re dying.
Mister Split Lip meet
floor, forget to fall and just
burst on your own
decide to shatter.
You are an acronym sitting down
You are sorry frowning,
sorry for frowning.  You’re sick
of these images and tired of books—
the trees that actually did die
so I could be a poet and tell you
you wear your names the same way
a deer wears a bullet in his neck,
bleeding gently on a
winter ground.