things might have gone unnoticed
had the words remained discreet.
secret. in their private spaces.
unmistakably awake. yet undisturbed.
evidence so tightly tied
the ribbons shred to fragments
loosening their grip. still —
the slender breath of words endured
with time unknowing in its passing.
but things happen. don’t they.
y’know. unexpected. and completely
with reproach.
disdain poured like thickly soured syrup
sanctifying outrage. anger strapped by
faded bindings. scissored by addiction’s
ever growing rule-of-thumb.
the more he poured
the more the bitterness fought back.
the more the liquor burned his throat
the words in desperation choked him
for they climbed in-side his opened mouth
and crawled behind his tongue.
