Eric Lacombe

I drank the silence

As carbon monoxide

Killing myself as surely

As if I’d brandished

A weapon.

Denial is not

A measure of peace

But the harbinger

Of an interminable war


My heart’s muffled chorus

Is as distant from me now

As a coyote’s domain is

From the apogee

Of its congenital muse


I cannot not reach her

Even in exploitation

For I have composed

Of her a goddess and forgotten

That she measures blood

Only in its propensity

To exacerbate pain


She, like her lunar sister

Is composed of regolith

(The residue of tears

Extinguished without profit)

She hangs sullen in my chest

Like a reading light

Casting discarnate tumors

Over every sliver

Of uncultivated flesh

A slave to munitions


And these words

No matter how

Beautiful or beastly

Will never express me

In my entirety

So I pick up the pen

And I make the first incision

Lifting mortality from my

Long-standing bones

Even if it takes a lifetime

I’ll free myself

These necrotizing customs


Despite being sick I thought I’d attempt a little something