poem

 Survival Mode

First, identify someone to hate—

Your lousy dad,

The one who broke your heart,

The one who got away,

The one you convinced to stay

And hate them with all

That’s left of your flayed atrophic heart.

Then sit down on the back patio

And sip your gin and watch the bats

In the backyard tracing blind patterns 

In the low gray insoluble sky.

You start to hear a low hum

That locates you above the fray.

When you close your eyes you know where you are—

The last place on earth

With just enough love

To keep you alive

7/12/25