Broken
bits of dialect-
The
only true companions I have ever known.
They
drift around my prefrontal cortex
Scattered…
flocking and shuddering
As
they are dismissed.
Colors
and sounds and feelings
And
these fragments of soul
Cloud
my intellect just as smoke smothers
A
crystal skyline with its greasy hue.
Breath,
concentrate, and attempt in vain
To
summon and align these gems
In
a scintillating fashion
So
as to allow for maximum luminosity
Open
on three-
Only
to find a haphazard pile
Of
broken beer bottles
Lying
atop the damp earth.