full of doubt | memories of my ghost sista

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booze blood words, full of doubt, hospice nurse, poem, Poetry, sonnet, wearing other people's underwear

Liquid devils; it’s not other people
that I’m morbidly sick over, it’s what

they do. No. I mean, when I say, “devil,”
I mean, “words in a text;” and “liquid”? Blood.

Booze. All that I put in me. This is me:
after the shift I’m left with ugly shoes,

aching lack and words. Without dowry,
all my touchables go untouched. This booze.

This blood. These words. I bite my lip. I think
I’m a bitter deity, since I don’t

even get the chance to tell you about
who died at work, that I’m wearing your pink

boy-briefs, or that nothing (booze, blood, words) won’t
let me unread what fills me now: pure doubt.

Tags

breakers, carry on carrion, fill my grave, full of doubt, hypocrisy is cool, poem, Poetry, sonnet, vulture culture

Despair sells. Once I swam into early
darkness, surf’s twittering filling my grave.
I had wanted to give myself, body
bone, up to that shape dissolving in wave
on wave, flittering in the deep region.
But I was washed back by breakers, stretched out
palely. Flesh! rejected by the ocean,
leaving me a dark burning, full of doubt
and sand. Now I drift only in my sleep.
I wake up—but not to drown, for the air
doesn’t care, I’m left alone in these hells
of false mornings, sick and restless. I weep
for you, vulture, hungry for my despair,
and I, carrion, for knowing what sells.

memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

Tag Archives: full of doubt

booze blood words

in praise of hypocrisy