What is left of me:
Broken dishes in a ***** sink
after a night I can’t remember;
A foot print in the mud;
Sweat soaked sheets
no one will think to wash for weeks.

Physical things; things you can touch
and feel
and tear.

It was different before:
Once I was elaborate and abstract;
refined and polished to a dull shine;
Held up to the light, each angle
would fascinate.

Now I smoke and drink
tequila straight from an old jar
with the label torn off;
This is what is left of me.