and with madness I stretch

if not in him,
then what do you believe?
surgical she cracks the ice
first with her molars
then with purpose
destroying the round cube into tiny fragments
along the edges of her teeth

I believe
in another drink I think
in another sunrise
tiptoeing through the fogged bathroom window
the mourning doves whistling songs of promise
while I nod to the muted
cool lullaby of porcelain
I believe in soft winter wheat
the bitter ache of gentian
a cure-all for all this madness
that holds US by a belt loop
over the crag of our past
where the historic mistakes await
but sadly we’ve been drinking to forget
we chuck our empties as far out as we can

I believe it is the door of the mother
we enter through I tell her
how we leave the party to get home
is anyone’s guess
though I’ve been known to stay the night
to comb the flowerbeds of half-empties
before crawling into a cab
I am what you would call a faithless bunch

but the journey is so very fast I say
and with madness I stretch
my hair back as if it were the cause
we must save it in each sip we have
I’ve made good enough friends
with the walls I was born with
forgive me
if I am remiss to not want a few more

_