Stand in for more important things;
The barbeque sauce with my fries
Feels like strychnine,
For all the real wounds are covered and salved,
None ever find articulation,
Just a lancet to distribute
The broken bread of pain
That comes in this ringing phone
To remind me how much I want to feel alone
-- Your voice -- again -- to echo the poet
Her avocational hazard of Hamlet's madness
For understanding what can never be
And getting lost before what is---
Your clarification is plain how I am wrong
But an army of innuendo comes dancing along
Like wine unstopped after a hundred years,
The stuffed down juice become a stark
Acerbic bitterness your tongue can judge to a distance
With the other things that never needed to exist,
Whose diapers I change and mollify cries
Nursing nightmares that I have abandoned them
When they made me feel abandoned
As another rode in on a dead stare.
I apologize, now, to the air.
Knowledge has spread into every cell
But the things we've never talked about
Still aren't discussed;
It's cruel to call out cruelty, wrong to point out wrong,
To bend the direction of what needs to long that way...
But there's a chord your words recall
That suspends with a gasp in my craw
To a quivering silence, where the truth would
Reach out in reply
To words leaping like inebriating rockets
For a moment's disposable ash
All to drown out the hiss of the fuse
That continues its inexorable course
Coldly and as calm
As planets turn and galaxies explode.
