I
was pressed for time. Mother was ill. Her liver suffered from cirrhosis. those
years running pain those trials with liquor those over-consumed seconds. a lady
was present. but the coroner said it was an accidental overdose—an exploded
liver. she’d taken codeine for some time. so, how is it this way? the pain must
have been crucial.
the manager found her. she was
completely nude. she’d dragged herself across the floor. a desperate day. a
desperate sign. a desperate covering.
it comes to us a phantom a swoosh
into a desert sphere.
I have tears to soil or seeds to unleash
or deep anguish to discuss. I have little time for museums, or disconnection,
or silly, nonsensical disputes. the cliché is simple, life is too precious, too
short, while many footstep, thin ice. such city snow, such a blizzard,
California is pitted!
I see visions at unpronounced
segments the chair is laughing the mirror belongs to father. an entire life
chasing smoke so much dear misery. beer foam longer pipes a 50 piece in a given
moment. such strong genetics such creeping whispers while aching in houses. “It
was time It was quick. It hurts to let go!” I was unsteady about a fact, or
unclear about a feeling, while relieved to deeper spaces. such writhing jails,
such internal prisons, plus, decimated by depression. the want for existence,
while sitting with little training, those golden years given to rawness. ink
seeping into cloth. blood boiling is terrors. or horrors flooding Noah. so many
eyes such superwoman thoughts, while we say, “I’ll do it later!”
a
phobia of it, a repulsion for it, while one must kiss it.
