1:30 AM At The Fridge

1998 or something like that...   

it's only one thirty, feels like three

in the morning

I seem to be mourning

for the life lost to time

when I hadn't enough,

energy

got stuck to my spine.

 

my mind had a body ache,

that misplaced my mind….

 

it is time to be gone now,

not standing

with my tongue-

between my molars

eys searching scarcity,

for the ones

who left me

disjointed at the front

of the chill

 

of one thirty

when it feels like three

and there's not enough you

and too much of me

and the leaves nod and flee

to sea, my

son.

 

 

I can't read the recipe

for a new life:

my glasses are on

the bed sleeping

my love/hater

wished I'd had more

to give,

not knowing

I'd given more than I had,

stealing life

from cold kasha,

chicken butt

 

an icebox,

I'm not

empty, so why

am I eating?

 

I'd just as easily in-jest my mail

or a male,

to be more specific;

but whose asking

me

to be more specific

Just me,

and the Pacific,

peaking

 

and I’m leaving

these leaves,

releasing

their cleaving,

exchanging New England for

the freedom to continue breathing