Sober Alcoholic

The enemy of my enemy lives on honeysuckle nectar and never blinks.

I took the enemy of my enemy to the creek to watch her leech sunlight from poison ivy.

The enemy of my enemy looks like she isn’t even breathing sometimes. Is she breathing?

The grass grows between the enemy of my enemy’s clenched fists, but she still won’t move.

Hell exists because the enemy of my enemy believed it into being. Heaven is her daydream.

If the enemy of my enemy could speak, she wouldn’t.

The enemy of my enemy tosses pearls into a bonfire.

When she runs out, she’ll use her own eyes.

 

 

The sum of my parts

two eyes in a skull

fingers that twitch and tremble

one foot that aches

a heart that has no use for metaphors

a brain that houses the whole shebang

and a belief that slips through the cracks

like a prisoner breaking out of his cell