Rolling along with the rain pigment of metamorphic sound, I am becoming inseparable from the wind.
The Day After Your Wedding…
I wake up in a strange motel room, on the couch. Look around. Two beds. Some dude is sleeping in one. What the…
There are not fingers to get a grip on this emotional panic attack. It splashes over me in a sick wave without warning, immobilizing, squeezing the spirit to liquid, evaporating through my skin. Nothing remains but the heavy pain of unnameable hardness in my chest, my gut, this awful taste in my mouth.
I put her face on it, for she is the root in my soul – though I know, in the back porch light of this raving vortex of mine, that it’s much older than the essence of her that I have etched so deeply into the tree of my inner life. The catalytic drink to bring the seed to bloom.
You’re killing me
With buzz words
So casually and carelessly
You speak to me