quicklime
God speeds his sentence, weaves wicker hearts with crooked hands.
A plague sprung from my mouth; these words, no meanings.
Everything I’m trying to say sprays dull against the ceiling.
Slump sideways still,
parched lips that crave,
a numb sting of liquor,
can’t force a will, can’t force a way.
Dive, I try.
The shell of a man comes quick to the surface.
Hold that breath till it digs itself a purpose.
Gasp not;
air just for life
the beautiful day evades me yet.
Dug to drain and soil a fingernail, a cuticle of calm.
Solice, I have all this still.
You picture me smiling as I walked away.
You couldn’t see the hooded figure hanging from the window sill.
Watch a braver man deplete in war, whilst his spirit holds true. The war is over but something inside caves, gradual, radiates to a twitch on his surface.
All this; agile but aged, harmonizing rage.
A thumbprint dust sheet; shake to lift the haze.
