Blood Letting Go
Drained by the healing solution
this vertigo subsides while
the end rises like a new year’s
resolution –
singular goal damned to failure
as there was something faulty
in the process: the lack of habit,
commitment, integration.
It disintegrated before my eyes,
the flash a phenomenon
that taps the brain’s store of
autobiographical memories
as hypoxia and blood loss
offer new traumas
to be lived down
or up in poems.
Lies or fictions
depends on one’s point of view –
character assassin (you leach!) or
authority on nothing
save the goodbye.
You become dramatic.
Drama doesn’t become you.
One last gasp:
I am, indeed, sorry.
Can you forgive?
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