the mundane inserts itself and thickens
like phlegm clings inside my throat
before I can spit out my despair
without a center it entangles quickly
like tree roots entwine through rock
choking the earth into grey dust
the air I breathe cannot penetrate
the pudding-vat of my vacuity
pulsing within like fermenting cud
the slow bubbles pop and ooze
a dissonance around the edges
of all I can no longer keep alive
my truth my love my joy
the dead flowers of my heart
(January 17, 2016)
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