Gone

The sucking out of everything

Photo by Kevin Borrill on Unsplash

All the wistful glances
from the beer to the clock
to the wine in someone else’s mitt
vapourized content in an anguish
that doesn’t settle like tea leaves

No, there’s no potpourri
no fetish to help lift us out of
this waste
of breath
so quit telling us to move on

I don’t want
to calculate damage anymore
like an actuarian who’s got no salt left
to lick

And just standing still
is all it will take before that time is
gone
but bringing us forever back
to its breasts
just to feel held again

I’d want to know
that the virtues I have cultivated
the prolific
is somehow the ticket for this ride
and that you do not care
if my tea towels and rags do not match

J.D. Harms 2020