I wonder how life in a small rural town turns into this o’ so quickly.
—
Awake. Swallow pills.
Sunshine, winter breeze. Buds, trees
tricked by the warm spell.
Daylight waning, dusk.
Awareness fading, a hush,
a stimulant rush.
Incandescent lamp,
champagne, pagan pleasures, love:
poet’s week drips on.
Drink. Swallow pills.
Wine, gaping pulling circling
Void. Rose, eyes closed. Sleep.