#toilet paper invective with self-flagellation

[tiaochan]

from Toilet Paper Invective with Self-Flagellation by Marcus Wicker

[unbloodiedmartyr]

*staring blankly out the windscreen treating the groceries in the shotgun seat like a priest in the confessional* From an apocalyptic lens, I suppose I have always been a little Icarus— firstborn son who saw sun in his reflection. As if, by studying light, inside an eclipse, I might touch a magical push-button switch that would handsomely reward my hubris. It seems like every few years I’m moving somewhere. Usually south, in pursuit of the “next big test,” next job title, next for what? A couple of   bumps in my FICO score? Another book, more air between us? Maybe I could have helped, stuck around. Maybe I should have kept slinging Cadillac engines. Should have oiled the invisible door hinge that swings uneasy, between me & most of my loves. There’s a 6-foot gap betwixt guilt &  grief that’s viewable only by forensics. You’ve got to scald it, shame. Scour the stain with steel wool pads & a high-power microscope. Everybody I know wants to score a quick fix for the escalating problem of  closeness. Suddenly, everyone wants to leave &  love &  live like they’ve been paying attention.

anyways this poem has me by the throat