I shoulder the brunt

Of our reconciliations,

The impetuous monologues cast

To an irate and weathered audience.

Tonight tempest is a state of being.

Everything we know is either

Needless or sullied beyond lavation.

Your taciturn grin peels off,

Siphoning shadows of

Their metaphysical substance.

I don’t have enough time for conversation

I’d rather slice my veins lengthwise

Then contemplate another disaster.

Within our deepest reaches we find the graves of our ancestors.

So many impositions, voices cataloging

My every mistake. My complications

Seem so much more complicated

When paired with ensuing addiction.

I drink you quietly in the dark,

From one paradox to another

This is the shape of a loneliness

Built on materialism and absention.

Tonight gravity knows naught but repulsion.

I sense a Wordle in this poem or rather I believe their are some words in here that would go well in a Wordle. I didn’t feel much like writing today to be honest I had a practice National Prov in Swedish and the main theme was politics I am mentally exhausted.


7 responses to “Sling

  1. That you can write this when exhausted, astounds me…to be redundant, you’re phenomenal. Hope you can rest up and get some relief from the back pain.

  2. nice acknowledgement of the ancestors within . I wonder if we get caught in their unfinished business. the shape of loneliness is a nice tactile line as well

    I hope the rest of the day is a little easier for you.

  3. There is some fantastic imagery that springs to mind again – a film reel that clicks on in my head and the scenarios just unfold in a ever slightly coloured/hued stained/tinted black and white film – grainy and old yet modern …

    Your words bring me there Yves – and for whatever reasons – I’m literally watching the poems “reel across me vision” – so well done.

    Hope you get some rest and feel much better soon.

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