The Suspension: Prose Poem

The burial of lost dreaming

Photo by Pascal Debrunner on Unsplash

Tried to take my back — the lower angles — out of the equation —

put on a face
for fun — no, I was engaged in making masks and letting anger be in a storm of words — if I’m louder than the other guy…

putting on masks for the fun of it but I’d lost the rest of the costume in my wallet — or someone else’s wallet — because I went to the dry cleaners with only the clothes I was wearing —

same day service doesn’t exist right now — or they just didn’t want me in there naked — I guess I didn’t have the money to clean anything then anyway —

oh the disease has capitulated so many, myself — yeah, I poured all my courage into a bottle of Screech that I couldn’t drink, I just used it for libations so that Dionysus could stomach more of the whining —

in the dark, in the day, staring right up at Orion’s waist I still didn’t have two cents to offer on the suspension of a life — put on hold —

I digress but I argued, a lot, too much, and all the caffeinated ramblings of the insecure had less to do with making a place comfortable

and more with the burial of lost dreaming.

J.D. Harms 2021