epitaph for the soulless

there are

wide-eyed whiskey
truths that trace
velocities, backward. this

was never about you,
the unfrozen intensity
of a moment stretched

into a night, a pair
of nights, sub-
aqueous drownings

in a river that knows too
many mornings,
inconstancy of under-

current winter
horizons & jagged
edges below the smooth

dark of summer waters;; an
itch inside my skin i
bury deeper with each

rasping handful of you
and that the sunlight won’t re-
wind; this,

this was never about you ex-
cept that it is.

16 thoughts on “epitaph for the soulless

    • Carl, i thought about that too, about doing my old trick with the “mo(u)rning” to give the double meaning, but decided against it for some reason. not really sure why– maybe subconsciously afraid to give it too much of a funereal feel?

  1. Now, there is always the chance that I mistook magic for the swirling addictive nature of hard core self-punishment, but reading through 5 or 6 of your latest, I completely freaked out about this. Holy fuck can you write or can you write? Now, I’m pretty sure you wove this one tighter than a new spring fresh from the factory but again; holy shit this is magic in a pill… er, I mean poem. I so love the desperation inherent in the moment that plays out against the narrative.

    (15 minutes & 10 feet closer to insanity)

    & It stands up to the re-reading test. I’m pretty convinced this poem is worthy of a gold star. Great fucking job my friend.



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