I wrote this one when things had first gone bad.


I do not know quite how I sacked my muse.
Perhaps it’s me that is now unemployed.
A while pale angry, now blushred annoyed.
I don’t think this the ending I would choose

Terse emails. Sudden silence on the phone.
Skin touched in memory but not again.
Bright sun outside. I feel it should be rain.
A strangle vine of lust that months had grown

Needed to be plucked out. It’s for the best
though dirt and mud is scattered on the rug.
You go cold turkey when you quit a drug.
I’ll go to bed at night and get some rest

Not toss, nor turn. Hands crossed; and in my head
No fever. I am calm. Sad as the dead.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s