Up over the division bridge of archaic balance
between logic and faith, your taste and your teeth,
losing some of both but coming out ahead
of your last enemies whose names escape you
they'll be back
The returned dead, gnats in your ears
violent muscles on the rise, attack
dreams boiling under the tongue
the way you champ down and turn blue
and turn green, crimson, and whisper women's names
who no longer have faces, these scarred fingers
that once roamed freely against her throat
and her throat, and hers, and her creamy perfumed wrist,
gone now without a trace
Odd how you feel like you're falling when you sit up
and how mired in your own tired fires you've become,
how your sister stares in disbelief,
your wife holding a broken wine glass, your brother
still ready to kick your ass, your son pointing, neighbors
peering through the back window fainting, the cops
breaking in your front door, mother wailing,
your dead fish gaping, the dog needs to be fed
and you have absolutely no idea
just what the hell you might have done or said