The morning was
a mountain
that had to be
climbed because
it was there.
She wasn't going to let
the mountain conquer her.
The whiskey helped.
She sat through endless
early morning TV.
She wondered if one could die
of endless early morning TV.
The gone cold fried eggs
with the subbed out cigarette
in its centre
like a flying saucer
invaded her
sense of self
"Is this what I've
come to...?"
she asked a mirror.
The mirror kept shtum .
The plate smashed to smithereens
on the cinnamon coloured wall
leaving a satisfying stain
resembling Argentina
trailing down like a Rorschach test
of how she was
feeling.
Another whiskey wouldn't
hurt...would it?
“Chasing angels or fleeing demons, go to the mountains.”
― Jeffrey Rasley, Bringing Progress to Paradise: What I Got from Giving to a Mountain Village in Nepal