Classy
Surrogate heart
I hear laughter down the steps
In the pharmacy style cabinets
Their glass doors with fulltime 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.
really interesting poem
ReplyDeleteOf 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.
ReplyDeleteinteresting place. I may be back.
ReplyDeleteForceful and lyric even in pain.
ReplyDeletevery 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...
ReplyDeleteHonest and good write.
ReplyDeletea sense of calm desperation throughout. dark, searching...hard to read, but very good.
ReplyDeleteDeep 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
ReplyDeletegreat imagery in this...esp. loved..Forty-five bumps smoothened by years Of potatoes and carrots and ...
ReplyDelete