First night in my van,
Emptiness reverberates.
I am vast. Try alone.
Tag: Poetry
Who but you? and I still cry
Who but you? and I still cry
Broke for a month—two now, nigh.
At 3am I beat the streets
Hands grasping for you, clasping at our lapse,
Clutched like the touch when we rushed
Our first late date in a state where I ate just to skate
More hours with you, boo, and a coo Jew too, who,
Not kissing wasn’t dissing but avoiding risking missing
A mended friend to send if romance is no dance.
Does shoving love like I did above
Make man weak, meek, where he will seek
For him and women to simmer unlimited,
But dimmer without your almighty shimmer?
Everyone’s fighting a battle you know nothing about
I hate my sleep apnea.
Hate, hate, abhor.
I can’t breathe when I sleep so I awaken repeatedly,
Nap on the daily,
and feel beat.
A lived life must be more than annoyance and suffering.
Ten years a-questing
To fix breath, life force, qi.
The first doctor declares me a statistical anomaly,
Second finds nothing
In a test improperly run.
So I find the right team—
The world’s experts, wouldn’t you know?—
Who spot it immediately, can solve it in a day…
As soon as I can get on their booked-years-out schedule.
The process is the punishment,
The surgery the solution.
You! Number the tidbits of trauma in me
You! Number the tidbits of trauma in me
Underlying me, trying me, frying my brain,
Driving insane,
Sending spirals miles down wells to hells
That I created, where I am hated.
What comes of me? Nothing to be
But a shell or a hull, a husk or a skull.
Empty inside—no self, not alive.
Julian Wise 