Shine

I think, “the worst things shine.”

Grease hair glow and

steel light. Glinting gem teeth.

They have eyes inside, for finding.

I think, “diamonds are another

blood money,” like this, and marriage too,

that great white miraging reverie.

In baby slaves a sea away

and the softly breathing sway of bodies

once swore to stay and

sleep, instead, in other states.

The shine is money-fine,

the shine is blood rising, crying

out from overflowing dress suit pockets.

I died to get here but I never wanted it.

Some kid paid a lightless rock-lung price

and I went and lost it.

I think, “the worst things shine,”

like the wine on my shoeshine,

the left-on porch light, the wailing

empty seat by mine. The grin-white

half-truths in courtrooms blinding peer reviews

and the glint of a marble floor like in a tomb,

I stared at my shoes and knew I’d lose, I’d lose.

I think this and they take two.

Thumb and ring, screaming nerves and

muffled blues. My body is empty

where it thunks dead to the pavement

in pieces. They set me free,

the hollow peace of alimony. I need a drink.

And there, the light is dark

yellow and swaying.

The light is dark yellow on the blood

running away from me, on the dark flood of

my body, spilled everywhere, for some floodlight

message: Bleed green or freely.

“Typical,” I mutter, and God bless him,

the bartender doesn’t stare.

The next drunk over plasters back his hair.

“You think that’s tough,” he asks my hand

and his fourth pint of beer. “try

giving up a sleeping bed to brilliant fear.”

His ring stares, winking-rare. I think,

for me, there is no sheltering anywhere.