PURGING

The day before I exit your life
For good…for the last time…
I get sick, extremely sick
Body wracked in pain and ache
Leaving me first thinking, no,
This must be some mistake,
Not now, not when I have boxes to haul,
Furniture to carry.
I fight it at first,
But then I realize,
It’s the breaking point,
My body is ready to reannoint itself,
But first it must purge itself of you.
Purge itself of the twisted thoughts
the complications
Manipulations
And the selfish meanness.
No, no, no. This is no coincidence,
This is throwing shit out,
Back over the fence of my body’s yard,
Emotional spring cleaning,
Meaning that after this is done
My ground is completely ploughed,
Furrowed and ready to plant and grow
In completely new ways,
And the only evidence of you,
The years, the trouble, the toil,
Will be buried there,
Deep under the soil,
Or left to wither in the sun,
Spoiled,
Undone.

12:45 a.m.

12:45 a.m. and I love the rain
when it comes like this
hard and steady on an August night
the light of my cigar glowing
as I stand beneath the eaves,
Maker’s Mark in hand
completely in command
of my existence,
unencumbered not lumbered
with anything more than
this moment in time
this rhythm this rhyme
this feeling divine,
the rain wiping clean every last thing
so a new day awaits
with no fate no destiny
just me
and the story I write
after this night in
the rain that I love
at 12:45 a.m.

Winner of the Poetry Palace Perfect Poet Award Week 50.