—SHOULDN’T LET YOU KICK ME WHEN I’M DOWN

The Clarity of Despair

Wrap me in

sticky cellophane,

make it gritty and obscene. 

Drop me in a

black sea without bottom

where every dead

fish knows my name. 

You don’t even need a reason. 

I won’t float or flinch. 

I’m right here,

a scab on a wall

of remorse. 

Take my eyes out

with an icepick please,

so I can no longer covet

what the moon won’t show me. 

If this sounds like hyperbole,

trust me, it’s nothing

but a love story. 

The devil’s never scared

when he’s bobbing for apples

or when the chest he’s

gnawing through is

as frail as mine.