fealty

It’s another stretch of the blue and bitters, chewing hell and spitting pitch. The chores left hanging, the sun up and undone, the chill in the tall pale morning nibbling at any featured flesh. The dogs are lost in their devastations, the rats tucked in up under the eaves. The toothache beauties and the daily graces have all gone their way. It’s coffee after coffee, and not a clue in sight.

The day again falls off the map, the dragons rising up to meet the gathering clouds, dusk a brief and listless fling before night arrives in a mood. Trash cans clatter their way to the gutters, offerings to the next morning’s machines. The ashtray smolders, the coffee cup steams. Rain falls like a hush.

Offer up the thankful feelings, give yourself over to the snips and slivers. The briefest of respites, the most insistent of memories. I lean into the long ache, the cold dark calling of tomorrows running low. I feel the drag in my gait, the spectacle of the fool’s errand, the consequences nipping near. These gods that won’t have us. These arms that never hold.