poison’s poem: surface eventual

After hours 15, I’m a slow envelope.  Empty

and scattered.  But still enjoying.. something.

There has to be a direction– left, convex.  Distracted

too easily.  Lethargia, too much about me.

Unrest laced my lest.. Crest behind curtains.  Solve all–

 

Intersections, 2nite.  Only for my right, to go without

sight.  Studying, but for what?  Review my own notes.

Panels examining my notebooks.  Journals now threaten?

Contraband, the Self.  Love in lineup.  Cuffed.  Enough, they

 

decided.  Another Zinfandel fall lets me 4get.  The traffic,

stories, glossy’d reports.. everything.  Exile my rile, until

paper piles catch their director.

 

Another ring.  Answer to strange recipes.  Sing to a doorbell.

Hopefully there’s a cheatsheet.  Market share scaring my heart’s set-snare.

 

[9/12/12]