January 13, 2009

drunk email to stacy at 3:14 a.m.

by D.C. Porder

the drugs abandoned my body at noon today.
i'm all out of your bogus prescriptions.
my eyes flickered for seven hours,
wandered through blips
of nightmares
set in your basement flooded
with your voice. maybe

i'll describe your voice
as an abandoned building,
your lexicon a truck stuttering exhaust.
sometimes my mind replays "fuck you"
in your precise timbre,
the careful dip into both syllables
the bounce, the cracked frequencies.

now i scrape the mattress
with my nails. i toss my arms
at the blank spot in the covers.
i thought you were a word.
you are a space.

*D.C. Porder's blog:


paisley said...

magnificent sense of anger and longing intertwined... very precisely written... not a syllable to spare... love it.....

angel of lust said...

"i thought you were a word.
you are a space."
- brilliant !! I love it

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