Tough Grocery Love

I am learning to be free,
learning to ride life’s bus
through this fog. I’ve left
my morality in the bushes
behind the dumpster,
pissed them out after vodka,
cranberries, tires spinning,
corroding and worn.

Those same wheels are screeching
loudly through the aisles of this store.
I am alone as I loudly travel from
one side of the store to another.

I am laughing to myself at my
lack of survival. I am a breastfed
human sucking Andrew Marvell’s
marrow from life like a newborn
child. This is my new blank canvas,
my clay umbilical chord stretching
farther and farther each day.

He is going to break it, I tell you.
His foot crushing my chord, I hope
he destroys the black chord of my
black telephone stretching into graves.

I have forgotten about the dead for now.

My raven flew into my window
and perched above my wisdom,
and I have forgotten my troubles,
my fear of death.

Pallas Athena is laughing at me
from her Greek Grave, and I am
chuckling in a store at my
surroundings, at its nonsensical
humans that don’t know life
from God, a ratio I cannot explain.

I have become life’s widow.