Unresolved

felicitous, felonious

eminent, impregnable

pregnant with speeches

of impenetrable verisimilitude

I bore easy and adore the sleazy

so let’s get cookin’

fentanyl and vodka piledriver

my everyday lay-away life

I hate the Mondays as much

as your Sundays

and although the Beatles were great

I like the Who better

Who are you?

not me first

me too

or the both of us

hotboxed bath salts

tainted with the blood of a virgin

human trafficking my thoughts

across the void of crime and place

my face, appearing on milk cartons

at home

nobody knows where I’ve gone

too old for the Amber Alert

and too young for the Silver Alert

averted eyes at bedtime with cocaine shivers

and tequila sunrises through the curtains

shots fired into the pain of name spoken

with the coldness only old love knows

nose bleeding the fuchsia minutiae

onto the Kleenex wadded up

and tossed in the corner

of this broken ass fucked up

life in which entrapped

rapping the voices bring a din

soundtracked arms wrapped

around the needle

of the record player skipping

a Coltrane song and the bong

sings along

but no longer brings relief

only more grief and the thoughts

of all that was lost to bring

us here, today

I sometimes pray

to not see another day

but then I think, hey

I am still here so maybe

I should just head west

like Modest Mouse

and find somewhere to rest

but I do not ever go.

follow, or head below

I stitch my lips and swear

to never speak again

another resolution still

unresolved.

maybe

not then, but now

maybe

restore, renew

what’s the fucking word I am looking for?

resurrection?

no

reset?

maybe

I’m unresolved

but the revolver barrel

is still clicking in my hands

and I hum along….

it’s too cold to feel anything

so I don’t feel at all.

a puzzle to solve…

Besides, it’s hard to feel

when you never take

the gloves off.

 

image courtesy of Pinterest

 

 

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