Fine. Just Fine.

Taking it on the chin for the one hundredth time
Soft top gray matter aches slips from impact inside
Abscess in my mouth a worried a hole with your tongue
Rocky patches like burns on the tops of your hands

But the shirt looks acceptable
Wrinkled at the bottom
We’ll keep that tucked in

You smell of smoke and 3am
(if you could smell smoke anymore)
But no one mentions it
Neither will you

The shoes are worn down to slippers
White waves of salt lick the sides

There’s a sensation
As you keep changing belt notches
That the table is tipping
And you’re holding on
Watching papers, and pencils, and coasters, fly by

In the relative dark of a kitchen table
You’ll automatic speak like a man possessed
Confess like a murderer
A lunatic hermetic drawn to forced prophesy

But, in the green light of 8:15AM
You’re fine
Because they asked

You’re cuff is torn
Keep that hidden.

I’m fine
You’re fine
Thanks for asking

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: