Vice

Gripped by random
unclear intensity,
energy on the verge
of a happening.
Rolled over in
the thought as
it enters all the
hollow spaces.
Hairs standing
eyes enlarging
toes curling…
and the hand
won’t stop squeezing
out one more,
numbing all the faces.

A lesson in relaxation

That smog returned
quickly this time.
Illogical, nervous,
angry, tearful.
I feel hyper, pacing back and
forth finding random chores
to do around the apartment.
In between steps I repeat,
what’s wrong with you?
Get control.
How, how to get control.
I’m still in my pajamas,
haven’t eaten breakfast.
Oh, there’s a little bit
of vodka in the cabinet.
Enough for one drink to
take the edge off.
Good idea.
I poured that drink, shaking.
Sitting down at the computer
looking for your note I
knock some back.
I don’t like vodka.
Another swallow.
This isn’t a good idea.
This just makes you weak.
In the kitchen I dump
it down the drain.
But not before feeling
the first drops warm
my throat and stomach.
Wash the dishes.
A better idea.
Eat breakfast.
A lightly burned bagel.
I like it like that.
And a Valium.
Because that’s much more
reasonable at this time of day.

Redemption/Harvest

Does he know that I
jimmied open that locked door
because I love him more
than I loathe myself?
October always brings such
bittersweet sensations,
and a neverending wealth
of futile frustration.