Dear Nothing,
if it even matters
my cluttering heart
chatters
in company of a wounded warrior
stumbling over his own emperor
with no place to go
and no day to change
working too hard for minimum wage
masochistically licking the boots
of his own chronic disease
keys
are drowned somewhere in my
intoxicated kidney
and me
fighting for peace
and bouncing to the rhythms of Sidney -
yes, that is my apogee
please
record this my last farewell
and dehydrated craving
for my inner refugee
who wonders somewhere on the road
in between
the repugnance
and the pleasure of the sublime.
- Margo Kirlan
