Photo by Aneta Foubíková on Unsplash
I.
It tastes of darkness
An inky black blurring blue
The pills leave you spinning
A birch leaf perched on the surface
The waters turbulent, rising all around
Observe the new confluences
Know you’re in a reprieve
An island for now
It is trauma that can’t be stolen
Scars picked for fresh blood
Momentary purpled continents
Dry for now
II.
It fills your body
A claustrophobic red stretch
Frightener fingers prod and squeeze
There’re no seams, just a rending
The fabric old & only getting older
Frayed like tarp, flayed like carp
Arrayed with a tired, well-trod fascination
Obsessed for now
III.
Sift through the sieve
See just how permeable
Grasp at the passing stream
Hold onto the nothing that surrounds you
IV.
Pick up pen, dirty paper
Wean poison from fang
Stir it into strong black coffee
Greet the day
Know it will exact its revenge
For crimes you didn’t even know you committed
But feel guilty for now
The future a fence for your memories & misunderstandings
The horizon a dislocated jaw of burning houses
Glinting like tombstones in the sun
Look for your place while covering your tracks
Most endings are other stories’ beginnings
& nobody likes a spoiler
& everybody likes a surprise
V.
Search for the thread
Without compromising your direction
Know it all crosses somewhere,
Sometime down the line
Consult your watch
Consult your holy words
Consult your bank account
If you’ve still got teeth
Gnash, grind it down
Until you can choke it down
Consult your childhood memories
Consult your precognitions
Consult your dreams
If you’re thrown from the train
Take comfort
It’s just a trip of a different sort
Consult your doctor
Consult your pharmacist
Consult the first responders
Live in the expanding space between words
Too much to say but so little will to speak
Understand something will always be lost
In translation
VI.
Know it will have its way
Hum along to that Narcan spiritual
An unexpected crossover hit
Dunked in darkness
Baptized in it
Pulled wide-eyed & terrified
Back into the world of the living
Hoarse even in silence,
Screaming a thousand choruses
To the same tired song
I-didn’t-want-to-be-heres melding with
It-hurts-too-much
Enough-is-never-enoughs harmonizing with
I-can’t-help-it
Everything rhyming with
The Big Game Is Every Night
VII.
It gives more than just a taste
Mute with filters
Trim like prints
Wear shadow shrouds
Hide the mental limp
With unimportances
Distractionizations
Lie-lies
Fall into the pall
VIII.
Know it will have its way
IX.
Despite it,
Despite it all:
Make, do, see
If you’re able:
Do, see, make
If you can now:
See, make, do
Everybody:
Do, make, see
X.
Afterclap
Full dark
A.S. Coomer is a writer and musician. Books include BIRTH OF A MONSTER, THE FETISHISTS, MEMORABILIA, THE DEVIL'S GOSPEL, MISDEEDS, SHINING THE LIGHT, THE FLOCK UNSEEN, & several others. He runs Lost, Long Gone, Forgotten Records, a 'record label' for poetry. @ascoomer www.ascoomer.com