Ends in a Y

The day ends in a Y and starts

with a series of five more minutes.

Vibrating at a lower frequency than

a dildo on its last legs.

Crusted eyelids and adrenaline dregs.

My dry mouth lets out a faint sigh.

I'm hooked on a feeling of motorcycle

emptiness, foot firmly off the throttle.

Soon hunched in the shower, a faint sodium shadow

casts its eye in the window and I couldn’t care less.

The buttons strain on my shirt and eczema erupts.

Day one thousand and something like this.

I'm relied on, battery acid house.

Leaking a waterfall of woe.

Stand beside me someone.


Hold my hand as we stroll to the river,

a warm autumn breeze in our hair.

Tell me, show me,

how things start anew

and pray that I’ll feel it once more.