There’s a pit where my spine
Used to be, a concavity absent
All the usual impositions.
The stiffest drink is a meager
Approximation for vim and valor
And nothing repulses more
Than the uncanny valley
Of total inebriation, the emptiness,
The almost endearments,
The flailing excuses for an utter lack
Of quantifiable fortune.
–
My chest is full of half-eaten sixes
And the rubble of unlit chimneys.
Face first in a porcelain muzzle
I revisit my life, my habits, the cliffs
Both surmounted and impassible
Straining to hear a whistle
That will summon me
From the rip in both heart and gut.
–
I have drilled into this ache
Split the doors and windows
As if they were constellations
Woven of papery refuse.
I have dreamed of finding love
Despite flaccid instigation.
I have wished for many things
But I have managed only
To pass the time.
mindlovemisery 