Certainty was what drew you up,
left you here
uncertain as ever.
Skewered lives and lines,
hacks who fall in love with the wrong person
and drink too much about it
And pleasing as a touch to a never-touched swig seems,
we get odd.
Sure’s just another no
bound by absolutes we’ll never tug behind us.
Distance rings inside the coffee mug:
distinct scars never scrubbed away
to make way for casted fixtures of now.
Turns even to battle lost
as legs preside over the kitchenette’s keeping.
Pucker up with your eyes drawn,
We’re just getting finished,
and the moon’s the color of a muskrat.
I know. I know.
I can be quite a handful.
I have my own certain tediousness,
cautious habits that know no cure,
but well’s a known that still presumes
earlier versions of myself have hit the showers.
recovery is not a permanent thing;
I still remember every detail
of every restroom and train car
I’ve ever danced in
along the way.