This Last Breathe

I am a splinter in your conviction

I am nameless

I pull my chosen bowler onto my head

ever the heedful one, I am, drifting into shadow

down a lesser path within,

no one save a passing glance – perhaps blood will launder my sin.

now I begin

this East End after supper lady.

this remonstrating lips of a whore wound into a coil of clicking tongues

hair into its usual bun, this apron, spreading affections dazzlingly wide

I will not confide this one a last breath, a last gasp, wondering but not wonder long

opening and rising up the air humming, from out of nothing - time is against me,

my strides hasten, a pack of grackles, spies, track me - brick wall to brick wall

the force of my petition and a satchel packed with instruments

weighs me down smack into a patch of prickle weed

heaving of the full moon floods the ground, shadows cast

last hopes vanish at that very moment clenching my jaw, a question on this face

emotions move muscles slapping the walls grasping at smoke there I paused

the color on this face falls on an obscure blur in front of me

here.  always here.  this I’ve done. Here in this place.

a comforting materiality, this spot down by the river already known, back, back

I sling my arm left to right, ruthless steel flashes, I sling again, back, flashes the bite

of hurtling sharp -- the past I am bound to hear,

hear this death, when all are fast asleep, the noise is gone I breath

inhaling this last lung of air -- over a painted mouth of red and pale rose

claims the emptiness of time in

this meager flesh box, this broken container

destiny runs against the bias…but this belongs to me.

I burrow my surgical plow cut sour viscera,

arrange in a circle, I make them my own, they shine

between huffs of laughter, I spit on the wager I will be caught dead,

dead loves dirt, dirt loves the dead

and this wheel so broken will never be fixed