Your not so slender form stands
in the bedroom door. You yawn.
I remember you before the
drugs took you to the ends
of my life.

Old now, the reckless
times are gone. Still you try,
hanging onto the threads of
yesterday.  Tangents of
circles.  

You strive to steer your
way through the long sleep,
the crash after
the burning addiction gets
you. You climb into
tomorrow like a crawl
Into infancy

and you tell me it's all
right Mom.

Caroline Shank
1.31.2023

The ice cube cracked when kissed by a tepid spirit in the glass. A small triumphant sound to mark the first time his tongue tasted scotch and the lips of another man. A clarinet sleeps on the shelf while the crystals continue to melt. Like the bodies on the couch. Two piles of paint swirling into a color he’s never seen. This is a milonga. A gathering of souls. Forever fleeting.

sacred magic
of starlike
electricity
courses through
neurons
into infinite
awakening

magic, this sacred magic
gives life meaning
a combustion
and the ignition
of some holy
engine

find this truth
if you're far,
remember this calling
my dear friend

if you go down forgotten streets
where the lights push the nightmares aside

and travel down
some forgotten dreams
to hear the melody
and are drawn in
by the strumming of guitar strings

and there on the stage
a heart walking a wire
with a sad smile of thunder and rain
that rolls you like tumbling dice

and if you believe in love at first glance
and listen with a young heart
you'll hear the wind and stardust
that she's chasing in her song