Finding Life Prosaic

by | Poetry

fingers bleeding prosaic, money
to clog arteries and veins,
to quell the rise and flow of
something
through the channels; self-proficiency
leaving the poetics seeping – open wounds – bloodied knuckles –
staining the bed in the mornings;

I found myself alone, relationships shearing and collapsing and dreams
of a crumbling marriage overshadowed by someone’s mother shivering over the barrier;
deterred suicide by the ghosts of suicide
deterred art in the face of an artist’s life;

I threw my body into the prosaic grinder,
coming out all pink meat that full stopped every twenty words slipped
into the casings of human algorithms
all singed by developing concerns;
jaded designers, self-loathing the meat recognised – have you ever
seen meat dreaming? meat dreaming classic, crashing joy,
waves of meat in the ocean – mad sensations
that made the meat beat and keep the memories awake at night

meat
got high
lapped up poetics
lost its mind
dug deep to hold insanity, to keep madness tight in the fist
buried deep in its breast –
bullied in the heat until it hugged the aorta and fucked each other in the hospital bed
until the chest was clogged
all experience and madness growing fat
together rotting poisons slow to stop the heart from beating like it used to
until the pulse rose, arises still, trembled and trembling forgot the joyous glories of Solpadol-infusions in the wine – the doctors in the white coats
know me now,
they know my tricks
they know the automated smiles
they know the learned behaviours
they recognise the constant need for masturbation burning meat’s hands;

– I have been prescribed the treatment of shame.

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