Can’t spell resignation without “i hate my pathetic fucking life”

1

July 31, 2016 by Wayne.

to rebuild my language
turn denial to anger,
sinkholes to over-brewed coffee,
archive last words, (i’ll
listen to liszt)
learn nothing, and pull a step
away each time

each time i lose a word
the remainders bear the
redistributed meaning, yet
never quite add up
to quite as much
(i listen to liszt)
each time my shortcuts, filler
phrases swerve into bowling
gutters of once-useful things

now brushed in shed skin and outside dust
now stacked in zig-zags, draped from hangers,
squeezed into space
now it has always been friday
now my friends, they ask why they don’t exist
why these candied collarbones,
holding patterns of sheep,
stick around the fringes
why i couldn’t ask earlier

earlier, said the oxidized veins,
the emaciation had yet to come
earlier, the truth was the stranger
who came on alternate sundays
who fed us the body of the christ
real things vs real goodbyes
and i waited

but i was ready all along.

 

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featured image by ethan murrow