Introducing her life
to my collapsing passages,
her breath helped drag out
a muddled flow of words,
all lethargy and nonsense
questioning love and life
with time the matter
of the minor degrees.
Saving me a piece at a time,
I was a patchwork
of stitches and scars,
this new clot
far from my last ailment,
it was held tight chested,
airways left strictly one-way.
Coughing out bits
used only to express loss
and the truer side
of life/time obsessions,
diaphragmic convulsions
leaving my head dizzy
and directions a confusing mess
of the simplicity of four rights,
to end up going the wrong way
down one-lane streets,
falling behind the wake, trying to chase
flashing lights, no way to fast track
to her side, I'm afraid she's been lost.
Unable to attend the viewing,
I missed even the chance
to see her in that
moment of peace
that never was her style.
Snapping in and out,
concentration casting clouds
on concrete I'd not recognized
a failing of reality,
or whatever we're calling this,
just knew that it brought about
imaginary friends and these invisibles
that play their parts, pushing pens
for those whose reality
was too far from truths
and had lost everything,
yet still couldn't
push forward that pain,
expose it so as to be free again,
preferring it cradled 'gainst their breast,
feeding it heart's ache.
Never do they release themselves of truth,
allowing the absence of this intensity
to control their propensity
down to the air they breath.
I got lucky, having her
return to deliver rescue breaths,
for with her,
inspiration died and
in its place came paradise
in invisible's covert creation.