separation

Sunday, December 30, 2007


separation




separation

is like swimming

against the current

with one arm

its like having

half your house explode

leaving the other side

slanted and cold

its a slow seeping

wound

no one else wants to

admit they see

it means

going to school functions

alone

killing your own

spiders and

watching your teenager

cry over

the number

and placement

of christmas stockings

its a spike

in your chest and

a tic

in your eye

and dreams

of water pooling

over floors in

strange houses

its a tattoo times two

of failure

on your forehead

its bankruptcy

on every possible

level

and waiting for

tanning or

after bedtime

to cry

it means smoking

and

rushing and rushing to

do everything

and none of it really matters

its having your life

put on hold

every other weekend

drinking in

loud places or

speaking

to no one at all

its being afraid

of the great unknown

number of shoes

that could be dropping

at any moment

its like being

hit repeatedly

upside the head

until you're too

bloody numb

to hate or hurt or wish or think

and

at least

its

almost

done