close

i have a sense for poison, now.
a recognition in a tone.
a calculated mystery.
a silence where there should be sharing.
a rush of words to cover some shame.
an eagerness to be pleased.
an excuse for not pleasing.
those voids- - -
black holes of adoration.

even now, finishing arguments.
honest conversations with the walls
and a fist locked firm around some old vial.

riots in some middle state.
people losing lives and friendship and security.
we watch from the coast with eager, hungry eyes.
follow the minute-by-minute just to know how safe we are.

my blood runs too- safe and contained
watching smaller dramas unfold
watching from some safe seat
like a voyeur for heart violence

there is a draft in here
in need of an edit

this doesn't deserve another grappling poem
romancing the poison
exonerating the pain
it all feeds the vacancy
that should be left to starve dry

the cycle
the magnetic shift,
i want to be separate from it.
another swearing off- - -
another experiment with dosage- - -
another confrontation with evidence- - -
the same heartbreak with another face- - -

i look for the reminder.
remember remember
there is no yours or mine anymore
there never was a mine

carve that cave out of old, scribbled pages.
fodder for some pyre
it's your funeral,
and every word seems to [be the] last.

not even words.  not words or visions.
some poison in the blood, still running red.
still habits to break.
still an empty to leave unfilled.

close. close. close

we were close
but to no end
close, but not as in almost

close to closing
some wound
some vein too connected
to the source

wild thoughts on dark nights
but morning brings light
mourning brings light
eventually.