another poem about feelings

my fingertips are calloused

a combination of deadened nerves from frying chicken

and cranking a wrench and soldering iron

this thick build up of ritual scarring my hands have endured may be my down fall

the sacrifices to the gods of groceries and electricity

rent to the auspicious host

sixty plus hours of devotion in the cathedral of indentured servitude

sneaking cigarettes behind the dumpster

weed pills booze and other less

savory

needs of weak physical form

a bottle of merlot

hints of tar

lymphoma

the delicate hint of elder berries and infinite tender tearing

bask in the aroma

smell the cycle of atrophy dancing on the pin head of youth and innocence

inhale

subtle tickles of wild jasmine and a sublime coating of the tongue in bile and wrath

do you feel it

three hours until bed

five staring at the ceiling

two solid sleeping

one needing to piss but refusal and rage

don’t dream about swimming

or rivers gently winding through an idyllic summer meadow

as the sun beats down

warm and heavy rays wrapping you like a steamed towel at the rub and tug

minus the musky scent of old cum

and the rigid sections that grate more than relax

floating on a wooden raft down the river

away from your cares and worries

like huckleberry finn

minus the era appropriate racism and terminology

floating with no sense of self

or danger

blissfully laying on rickety boards held together by barnacles and best intentions

run up on a sand bar next to the sewage treatment plant on watery wednesday after a virile strain of taco tuesday e coli ecstacy

stranded alone

drumming your dead fingertips on the moss slick board that represents your freedom

and it hits you

love is blind

all those missed signs and opportunities were right there in front of you the entire time

in braille

and your clumsy hands never noticed them

now you’re stuck downwind of the accumulation of an entire life summed up in swirling liquidy shit

legs crossed

afraid to sleep for fear of getting the bed

again

but if you get up you will never fall back asleep even though laying here in the semi erotic dance of horizontal bladder ballet

the room is too cool

and even your hands have betrayed you

so

you stand there in the dark more concerned about acclimation to consciousness more than aim

on what feels like hour fifteen of the longest piss ever you are lost in the epiphany

love is blind

life is not fair

you need to clean up the urine that went everywhere in your refusal

childish at that

to turn on the light and open your eyes

lucky for you

you’re alone

oblivious to the bumps all around you

the map to valhalla

instead you go curl up in the cold room and pretend to try and sleep for the fifteen minutes until the alarm goes off

work is calling

2 thoughts on “another poem about feelings

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