Sometimes I see your ghost smiling back at me,
a satisfied
smile with straight teeth and lingering lust,
and it hits my gut like psychedelic
poison,
spinning hallucinations and weightlessness,
and all the fucked up weight
that drags behind our spirits like a ball and chain,
a slowly creeping advance
that I can’t outrun,
with my molasses motivation and strung-out apathy,
and
there’s a widening sliver of teeth,
there’s a pink blossom covered in snow,
just
to prove that progress is not permanent,
and what is beautiful in one moment
is damaged goods in the next,
a spring smile saturated by snow,
numbed
to the point of amputation,
frozen in a mental snapshot.
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