Warbling I’m Sorry in E Flat

My mother is professionally wounded
But I’m just a dilettante
I lack the jaw clenching avarice
To wrench her clock springs pop and let her whir out of balance
Spiraling like gravity turning in on itself draining to cold infinity

The only thing I’m sure of is doubt
My doctorate in “Preemptive Apologies” hangs in the basement office
Where I float in a haze of raised eyebrows, disincorporated dreans, and cigarettes

You were my first leson in heartbreak
I’ve spent 40 years drifting on that song
But I’ll call out again, I know,  hoping you’ll pull me back to solid ground

A yellowed juke box warbles melancholy
For the woman who washed me in the sink
My little hands grasping,  suspended between the cold hanging spigot and the carniverous drain

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