Crisp Moment

Three days, maybe, after I thought of crushing them with a whisky bottle,
Placing the crumbs between sheets of printer paper,
Crushing them to powder and snorting them with an unglamorous half-an-envelope or rent receipt;

Three days pin-eyed and fascinated and angered by everything,
Sleepless, swimming on the floor and laughing at cheating time;

But I ended up sitting, and my mind went mute,
The world went mute,
Like deafness never louder.

Never so quiet, never before,
Never cradled in such loneliness.

And I could speak to a thing inside me that
I’d smothered and drowned and poisoned and forgot.

I only had the question Why.

But I got an answer, so maybe it was the best that could be hoped for.
I saw a pigeon on my ledge,
And knew what it really was.
I tasted the corruption in
The dying of a delicious fresh grape.

I got one day, one crisp moment.



Talk to me.
Don’t make it public.
Tell me the things for me that are only mine.

everything else, its show,
and it’s dead and it means nothing.

talk to me
from your soul,
and what you can remember,
and what you feel.

Not this new.
Not this sheer.

Just talk.
We’d just talked.
it’s venoumous now,
but not with me.