"kamchatka" poems
NEITHER rose leaves gathered in a jar-respectably in Boston-these-nor drops of Christ blood for a chalice-decently in Philadelphia or Baltimore.
Cinders-these-hissing in a marl and lime of Chicago-also these-the howling of northwest winds across North and South Dakota-or the spatter of winter spray on sea rocks of Kamchatka.
1.4k
One open can of
half empty **** water
popped the night before
for a palm of pills,
codeine and HRT
chased with Kamchatka 8-0
she collapses in bed
with hope in her head,
belly full.
Morning comes, her will is gone, she stumbles blind
to root her elbows at the window sill, still groggy
from the high of nighttime.
Noon comes and the clock stops, it's a road block
setup at the overpass and by the time
transference makes sense she's
spent her energy just shifting.
In place, enervated. A mistake.
A husk built of guilt and bone.
In a closed room full of blood and *****
alone. Atone.
In place, enervated,
elbows at the window sill.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC