Anticlimax

Human-sized constellation

So prickly like a slept limb

Or lumps of regret

Wine-flavored

Caught in the teeth of trees

The moon the clouds we

Irrigate our beds nightly–

Lack of always, we buffer

The sideways and cluttered

Mind of wine so full of holes

And car departingly whining–

“Why, why I” says the

Infinity in your back pocket–

You stay sitting.

But cords bind our minds

Cords sown in the vineyard

So wetted with wisdomless words with

Day-old makeup

Paint flaking

The reflection of a mirror

More profound than a single sunset

More than god’s last breath

Bottled and sold at a flea market–

Thy will be scorned on earth as it is

In hell.

Why core the apple and riposte–

Arsenic lips you have my dear–

Why approach with the gait of

A chair or a wobbling table–

Back off vile thing

Thou hyena thou

Bandit– who sold you the map leading

To me?

Who is the unlucky one to befriend me

In such a slum as my mind?