"Late-Season Malaise"
Heartsick, smokesick, homesick, sicksick, I need pre-chewed intervals, the death of minutiae, white-paneled recovery rooms to nuzzle me through the nightly relapses, knowable shoulders like shorelines It’s an elemental sadness to be sure, claw-gripped and slithery, as documented and inoperable as a heel or a hunger, trampled down to bypass my defenses undetected The whole of October came and fled flippantly, tossing aside twelve words like nickels plunked into homeless styrofoam, over the crackle-knell of spat-down leaves and bricolage debris It’s long past the point of resolutions now, any earthbound rationale, to jitter-fingers, drawn blinds, slaughtered hours numb numb numb husks of weeks stewing in the ghost-milk of a laptop Stomach like an excavated cavity, I need the meal of mercy’s redress and round-the-clock supervision, sunlight’s febrile tongue nipping at foreign sheets to expel me into the streets Cures to clot the daybleed, alchemy to kill the nightstrain, I wait and wait for the chill to snap, for your anemic spell to shiver off like another flake from bony branches |
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