Classy

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.

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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.

    Tykkää

  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…

    Tykkää

  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

    Tykkää

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