Tuesday 8/04/2009 12:41:00 AM

She stood. Her finger poised over the reset button. Dead things on both shoulders. And arms numb. From digging too many graves. Everything to undo. She contemplated. Alone again. Alone the same. How much would I lose. Of this nothing I've come to trust.

The future in its skinny jeans. Hips hanging over the top seam. The future. Arrogant drugs. That profess to make me better. Multiplying frailties. Dividing by passions. Every person is a canyon. Every touch is an echo. I'm at the edge. And it all comes back at me. Just a fraction of what is was.

I tease the sober gods with bits of linear logic. I stumble upon myself and ask them where is your plan now. Monsters escaping their closets. And crawling out from under our beds. Everywhere there are ghouls. I can close my eyes and fall asleep, but I still see them.

I write on the wall for her to see. I am here. Or will be. It's a tangent. This mediocrity of skin. I argue with the hours. Over where it happened. That we stopped. We're still going it says. But I am there. And I'm not leaving.

Any time soon.

Even before we find it. It's already over.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2021. All Rights Reserved.