two musketeers

the two musketeers

facing my fears
is easy

compared to living
with

the absence of yr presence-

o, god! it hurts too much;
if only, if only we

could touch...

i’d pack you a lil’ lunch, a lil’
brown bagged lunch

i’d write yr name on the front
and i’d design a smiley face
heart with the ketchup-

i’d give you infinite hugs
y tons y tons (times/
multiplied by forever)
kisses

on yr soft, pudgy cheek;
on yr harlot-red lips;

o, mom! this is so painful-

i’ve got a mouth burnin; on fire
‘n a stomach/belly full of
love ‘n regrets...

listening to patsy cline

y swillin’ wine-

i’m

not

switchin’

from

sober

to drunk

quick
enough

so

i give myself
(another) red
wine enema

‘n pretend
it’s for my
health

is

past

failing-

it’s in last
place

‘n

this is
the ‘last
leg’

of the
race-

quick, hurry,
fast! give me
whiskey
neat

(cus’ everything’s so messy)

with no chase-er,

i need, i must

erase her;

i must,
i need,
i want,
i have
to

git him outta
my system-

therefore,
give me

a colonic,
more/mas
enemas

(coffee this time, please)

y begin to induce
the vomiting,

turn/crank/increase/
escalate

the heat
in this
place

sos i can start
sweating her
outta me-

cut open my chest,
break my ribs,
then remove
my heart

(the shattered, tattered, broken
bent [to pieces] worthless
thing) then
spray it/douse/drench

it

in/with

nitroglycerin

then break it
again

and shove it,
store it
in

a bottle

inside
a bottle

inside
a smaller
even/yet

bottle

then

put it in
a titanium
bullet/fire
proof,

tamper-evident
container,

then put that in
a safe (lose the
key; make it so
nobody knows

the combination

then put that in yet
one more safe

then wrap it in 30 rolls of duct-tape,
tie weights [weighing at least 20
tons] around it

then let’s rent a ship to take us out into
the middle of right where the atlantic
meets the pacific meets the antarctic
meets the indian

ocean

‘n let’s toss it
over the edge

of this
cliff

called ‘reality’

let’s
let
it

sink and sink and sink

until it is a million leagues
under the ‘sea’

then somebody, anybody!
mommy!? please take me
to be hypnotized

so that as long as i’m alive,
every time i

all but think yr name

i’ll suffocate-

so that as long as i’m alive
[which won’t be too long]
every time i

so much as imagine yr name
alongside/combined with/con
love

i

will
feel

a sharp, biting, splicing,
excrutiating pain

originating
in my right
flank

then traveling
down my leg
then up my
spine and
hands

directly
into my
brain-

if this is a ‘game’

i have lost,

i quit,

i forfeit,

i certainly
do not
wish,

do not
have
any

desire [left]
to play...

so-what do you think?
what will you say?

what will you say when my obituary
says you killed me,

when the epitaph
on my grave

says yr name,

says that you made
me yr slave-

tricked me with s-e-x
‘n love everlasting

then disappeared with
barely a trace,

ceased speaking
with me,

gave me the ultimate/deadly
‘silent treatment’, then

denied complete access-

denied me the possibility
to see yr face,

then laughed/lapped it up
pleasurably as you and
‘yr man’ watched

[while munching on corn popped
in the microwave with/con butter
fake] me

fall

from

grace-

what taste
does all
of this
leave
in
yr mouth(s)?

does my defeat
taste sweet on
yr (no longer)
young tongue(s)?

tell me, please, i’m dying (literally)
to know...