pulse

[Eŋg]

Two hands on my chest
when I handle a grey thought sullenly.
Veins, taut, underneath the design of a beast.
Preoccupied with the skin, the ocular lies, hiding a grin,
Crop the disguise: ink drops hit the eyes in a squint.
Bop in my stride? More like I walk by with a limp.
The climate is crisp.
Glass cobbles from cracked bottles escorting
a chorus. Awkward. They’re trying to sing.
Love lost in the sheets that a tyrant defends,
Tossing change - hate myself - buying a friend.
Love found on the streets in the smile of a guest’s
thin, cracked lips. Distracted. This hatchet
would be buried if I could just find some earth,
Occupied with worth: a client; the worst,
the first slave buying a serf dying to serve.
Mother’s trying to stir while my mind is inert.
Admiring hurt. Grow to inspire a herd.
- My life is my word
and I’m more tight-lipped than I would prefer.
Silence the air when we step out for dinner,
Body heat -- commodity, expounding winter.
Estranged. Hugged it out and you found I was thinner.
Wrote you a letter but the message was false:
My pencil is precious. Alchemist. Turns lead into gold.
One-shot to the noggin’s a deafening note,
Two taps where my heart is to check for a pulse.