the thought that spills out | poem

poetry

poetry is the gin glass

that gave confidence

enough to make a phone call

you promised sober

never to make

when drunk because

of the last time

you saw them in a park

sat on swings, dragging feet.

the absence of their eyes

told you it was over

and had been

for some time.

poetry is how tears form and run

down cheekbones

as though snow that rolls away

until an avalanche—

of everything

uncontrollable in your life

drowns you.

poetry is the lip crack

skin blister trek

made for days—high on altitude

in search of rest bite.