Surrogate heart
I hear laughter down the steps
In the pharmacy style cabinets
Their glass doors with full-time fog
I ogle at shapes and shadows
Somebody stole my medicine
An asymmetric whiskey bottle
Hides between tall plastic boxes and
At times I forget it is there, not to drink
But to purify, to disinfect
The well-known gaps along my vegetable knife,
Forty-five bumps smoothened by years
Of potatoes and carrots and
Shaky white wrists,
Longing for the high that never comes.


10 kommenttia artikkeliin ”Classy

  1. Of all things literary, I feel poetry is the most ”beauty is in the eye of the beholder”genre. I tend to lean towards the obscure and ancient, and then jump to pop-style that could end up as lyrics for an easy listening artist. I'm a romantic that way. That being said, I love this poem. It feels raw and significant, and the imagery is pure genius.


  2. very nicely spun…the intimate details of the knife is def a great touch…knowing the teeth…and the placement of the bottle and forgetting its purpose…always looking for the high, i can relate on some level to that…


  3. Deep and dark, somewhat disturbing in the thoughts of self destruction and, the intimate detail of the knife. For all of that I see see that tiny slither of hope in it. Great imagery and, writing



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