May 02 2007

Pearl Thistle Plug Epistle

Published by at 5:00 pm under Poetry

Pearl Thistle Plug Epistle
by Sander Roscoe Wolff
October 1, 2006

Drinking milk, a flood of calcium in hopes of growing
luminescent glowing pearl, her love a grain of sand.
My heart slows, knowing it will not sustain this
frantic pace, racing away from her blindly
when she speaks unkindly.

Won’t this magic coalesce? I’m a swine, now where’s mine?
I want to form one ‘round this formless soul, this
strained muscle that keeps beating itself against her walls.
She laughs at my fumbling metaphors, tosses her hair and
suddenly not there.

It’s a thistle, grown around my healing heart, to ward off
eager, careless hands. Demands upon it will not stand.
This epistle blossoms in the Spring,
the sting of cruelty long forgotten,
memories of misbegotten days.

How I long to forget her, to not see her face
whenever I close my eyes. Forget her whispers, laugh,
and sighs. I close my eyes. This lingering appetite for
all that stills me, all that kills me, won’t be denied.
Have I died?

Drugs and alcohol, Vicodin and regret, a strange cocktail
mixed in a broken glass. Cigarettes burn, I can’t forget. I
yearn for that sting, the pain she brings, it cannot end until
I die. She is my life support. Am I strong enough
to pull the plug?

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