dive

this is one of those times of dusk
when the bony, withered hand clutches and wrings and wrenches
my heart like an old rag.

and I am soaked
in my own drowning pool.

lungs full and tears dried,
my mouth gapes in a last surrendered exhale.
there is no grasping. no meaning making. no struggle. no fight.

there is only a steep and steady falling
into nowhere.

a starless well,
a soundless song,
a hollow hurting
emptied of all reason or remembrance.

I see gun barrels loaded and leaned into my skin,
hearing the click, the click, the click.
the firework explosions of a raincloud, done with its raging.
the still hum of an ordinary night.
life goes on.

lights blink on and off
all the time.
just like Christmas.
just like the stolen holiness of the darkest day.

or else, everything goes somnambulant,
all haze and faze and fog and smoke,
like a perfectly forgettable dream.

just two stars on the left,
and I am away and in
the saddest chair,
pondering
every moment of waste and wanting.