Chartreuse as a Feeling

Published by David Bankson on

the ugly writers

Chartreuse as a Feeling

I regret,
like coiled flowers, I burst when loosed,
but the loosing is part of who I am.
I could never stop that sort of liquid:
a river rushing through my teeth,
rushing through my veins,
leaving an imprint
on the memory-foam mattress,
crusted with a coat of flesh
where I used to lay my heart.
It’s the voice of second-person
recognizing my fervent thoughts–
You aren’t good enough
for the love which you seek.
I regret,
therefore I am
salt in a potted plant.
It is vined like pothos,
dropping leaves between
the floorboards as they yellow
and fall away. I look
for every one.
But you swear you heard
the weeping willows
outside my gaping door.
They sucked away the entire sky,
leaving nothing but chartreuse.

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