Can you hear the disgust, pealing like bells
Driving you from your hopeful slumber,
Thrusting you out into the unforgiving light
Where all the faults and crevices into which
Your life has fallen are illuminated
Like so many wrinkles on your brow?
Rejection is like a mildew
Creeping up the walls and tiles
That line your dreams.
When the time comes, as it always does,
Fall into the razor edge
Of the eyes that laugh
At you for what you are.
Print the words in your book
Carefully, with short precise strokes.
Knife the pen along the page
And draw your blood from its blank stare.
He sweeps his leaden arms only to
Spill the wine on the lace tablecloth,
Soaking it in grapes and sadness
While the company rises and leaves.
If I am under there,
The small dark place where it is hidden,
I can see the sky if my head tilts just so
But the ground surrounds me.