That was his fault
He had run them all away
And very soon, he began
Frantically forgetting
Her scent so he
Groped his way up from bottom
Of the bottle
Hoping to catch cleverness
With the charm he once commanded.
He was broken by the realization that
her beauty had a way of burning riddled
truths and etching bitter honesty
into his mind
And with her had gone the balm of interaction
In her absence A deep silence was born in him
Gleaming like an animated ebony razor
Posed to cut out his tongue
The blade handle
Held images of wealthy merchants
Swallowing his future all pointing
To his lost women.
That woman was not shallow
And that one was notordinary.
Alas.
Was there hope of redemption in
Caught realizations?
Can there ever be an late epiphany?
He could shake the irrepressible despair
And broken promise of his existence
After washing up his mind
There was still only a
small ray of
compromised light that reached
his soul just enough to allow hime
to remember
that she had beauty and vigor
And with her had gone all interaction
His thoughts ran to fields of purple,
plains of Africa soaring on a dirty
kitchen floor
Grappling with speakeasy’s and cows
That became small pieces of his heart
beating wildly and he was confused
were these his memories?
This is fluttered legacy
News of her and her was not a hoax!!
So it must be real.
Sad roses and red gloves in the distance
Past the rain
he had become small in the aftermath
of their union
But the handful of footsteps
Left over from the beginning
Forced him to remember through the liquor
To remember where she sat and how she rocked
Finally everything seamed repulsive
Became a pool of stagnant letters
Quarrelling into deeper waters
Of obscenities
And upon remembering such stark naked
He tried to drown out
A hard screaming choked voice
Saying with hoarse authority
Well done.
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