We’ll season our greetings
and
salt one another’s
wounds for free.
We compare our flavorless
lives,
without ever investing
in one another
or
ourselves.
No deposit,
no return.
Give as good as you get,
or better yet,
give better than they deserve.
You’ll get more than you think
in return.
To be leaving,
to have left,
to start over,
to be bereft.
What else is there
but to walk away?
So sorry a state
that only God
might stay.
There was no mercy,
there was no sin,
shook dust from boot,
beginning again.
We’ve set the fires,
the windows are broken,
only shards remain,
the building is gutted,
the staff is insane,
where once we cared
only shells remain.
Oh,
the night is a swollen
wineskin,
the moon hangs high,
I only
wanted to live,
was
left behind to die.
Sated on hatred,
collided with skin,
bones are broken,
teeth are pulled,
pliers grip
incisor again.
The clock is punched,
its wires yanked,
limited options mulled,
the senses dulled.
The hands are dealt,
the aces laid down,
all bets are lost.
they’ve come to collect,
my wallet is empty,
my life
is wrecked.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2019
Nov 9, 2019
Nov 9, 2019 at 5:17 PM UTC
We’ll season our greetings
and
salt one another’s
wounds for free.
We compare our flavorless
lives,
without ever investing
in one another
or
ourselves.
No deposit,
no return.
Give as good as you get,
or better yet,
give better than they deserve.
You’ll get more than you think
in return.
To be leaving,
to have left,
to start over,
to be bereft.
What else is there
but to walk away?
So sorry a state
that only God
might stay.
There was no mercy,
there was no sin,
shook dust from boot,
beginning again.
We’ve set the fires,
the windows are broken,
only shards remain,
the building is gutted,
the staff is insane,
where once we cared
only shells remain.
Oh,
the night is a swollen
wineskin,
the moon hangs high,
I only
wanted to live,
was
left behind to die.
Sated on hatred,
collided with skin,
bones are broken,
teeth are pulled,
pliers grip
incisor again.
The clock is punched,
its wires yanked,
limited options mulled,
the senses dulled.
The hands are dealt,
the aces laid down,
all bets are lost.
they’ve come to collect,
my wallet is empty,
my life
is wrecked.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2019
