Maybe Now, They’ll Know Your Name

The cigarette goes out.

Crushed into the couch, the smell not recognized or nixed.

We’re coming swiftly to a new eclipse,

and fueling flames that jive and spook us where we stand.

Ma looks at you, and tilts...

Her tits hang like pendulums,

and beg a comeuppance from your bitter pill

you’ve been shopping around the block.

Your swiss cheese flowers

up upon her sill have ceased to entertain old notions...

To think that all of this treasure

you tried to pertinaciously achieve,

while “Fuck You’s” dance above the pleasant breeze

like wings,

and on the people’s backs and fists

as they plunge through clouds of darkness

striking out at the abyss in heated bouts that last whole mornings,

’til they spill into late eve.

Tomorrow we’ll most likely drain

of all remembered colour,

but for now you throw the covers back, and shoot with fury into the crowd.

...Wonder when they’ll say your name out loud...

Or if the echoes really made them clean,

and borrowed time

like angry clumps of sand and ash

to be stored for future violences,

when the shit is really flying high

and heavy

where preternatural curtains dance...

Maybe now they’ll know,

but I’ve regressed beyond the panic,

and the pageantry

of your display...

A desperate act that begs for eyes to pause

mid-stream...

I really daren’t stay through the whole act,

today, tomorrow, or at all...

I’ve pledged my heart beyond the borders,

as my legs and arms are useless boulders...

Best to lift me

off your shoulders,

and expose raw cheeks to wind...

6/10/20

Alessa Cleanse

(edit #2)