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