Umbilicus

Published October 1, 2014 by April Fox

and all the times we’ve flattered ourselves into
dreaming scars away, wishing lives
into existence
made of fog and manufactured hope
malt liquor and memories
strung charms onto rough hemp rope and graduated
from the bottom of the
middle class to find ourselves
sitting on the crunchy lawn, stomping fire ants and drinking
from the hose because the air inside is thick
with grief and longing
for goodbye

picking at our toenails when we think no one is looking
scanning trash talk magazines
for perfume ads to jerk off to
from memory
while our wives lie fast asleep inside
the coffins of our sheets

we haven’t learned a thing
since we slipped the noose
umbilicus.

and all the times we’ve flattered ourselves
into forgetting who we were
we crawled inside again
fought the light to find the dark, the cold wet
comfort
of the things we never loved
or loved us back.

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