Overcast and damp

the wet streets sizzle,

cars shimmy and splash.

The sty beneath my lid aches,

and the paranoia in me

thinks, I’m going blind.


There are images,

cloudy and floating,

holding me impaired

and still I stare

into the nightmare

that tells me I am human

I am stupid

and I am going to react.


The street is crowded.

The creeping rush hour

metal river of misery

carries commuters,

the truest illustration

of George A. Romero

in this society.


The second is the suit,

a costume donned

for the occasion.


and birthday

and holiday.

All together.

I wonder if that is actually lucky.


The light changes

I remain in the street,

soaked and sty aching

I wash my lids in the rain.

Horns blare at me,

the present in hand,

I stand waiting for the hug.

Instinct knows

it will be a kiss,

but hope remains

knotted in my pit.


Through the window,

a laughing smile,

a hug and the kiss,

but just on the cheek.

My gut loosens

for a moment

before they move in

redoubling affection,

attacking each other

with a faithless passion.


My stomach lurches.

I drop my package.

Horns blare and I see

the headlights

beside me. I apologize

to both car and zombie

and walk away

feeling undead.

Leaving pieces of me

in the street.


I feel my other self rising

arriving from the pit

causing my teeth to grit

and my heart to burst

with an adrenaline surge.

Love and war I think.

Love, and war.


I pull the box

from my soaked coat

retrieve the small circlet

with the compressed coal

and swallow my salary.

Two months or three

who the hell knows,

who the fuck cares?

It will be deposited

by my guts

in whatever receptacle

will have it.

My instincts want

a gun,

a knife,

something to pound.


Some darker part of myself

will be celebrating soon.


and birthday

and holiday,



someone started a joke

but I am not laughing.


2 thoughts on “Cheating Catalyst

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