your fingers grip a bottle
that you swore to our mother
you’d abandoned approximately
a year ago along with that insatiable
will to live, that vital and visceral will
that galvanized your animal heart,
before it was decommissioned or
totally and wholly expended on an
occupation that you loathe and
a woman who did you wrong and
a world that has no sympathy for
those it leaves maltreated and exploited,
before it was enfranchised and removed
from its natural habitat, white robed in a crimson room
you are off the radar and in the fray
with a little bit of solace that you found
somewhere in the hemorrhaging night
that just cannot contain
the dawn from
pouring in like
smoke any
longer
let the dawn
pour over you
in a grey light
while the world
around you
burns
hold onto
that spark
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem