At Tails-end of a Talisman

a Saturday morning poem.

Art Phoenix by Katsushika Hokusai

this week feels a mess.

a blurred, whirling bird

careening towards a ravine

until it realizes they're steering.

—

my mind feels a waste.

slugging through acid fields of abandonment

hopeless, endless mire and mines

walking into nothing.

—

my body feels numb.

like it's my job to be here

to witness this horror

to behold, begrudge

—

and forget.

as the cycle repeats itself

again, again,

and again.

—

what is it to forgive

this mess, as a week,

and forget

the wasted and numb

again, again,

and again.

—

again, and again, I wait for new feathers.