Like White Zinfandel

by Ralkkai

This is my soul melting,
wilting from love
and wilting
from
fingers pounding on broken
piano keys.
It’s the last common thought
I have before full insanity
gives in.

It’s sanctuary
felt in every touch
and
every word.

It’s tranquility of
candlelight
and the acrid
perfume
of
infection.

It’s my poetry
dancing in books,
on pages,
in safe places
and over sunsets and burning
hells.

This is my soul
and it has been spilt
on the carpet
and thrown away like
dead love letters
and old memoirs being sold
out of people’s garages
in synthetic cities.

It’s been captivated
obliterated,
tolerated,
excavated,
confiscated,
eradicated,
syncopated
and
worn out.

This is my soul
like White Zinfandel
being
spilt on the carpet.

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