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.