Troubadour Kaul, 04/12

Love in the Rhymes of Cholera

gaping at his jutting ribcage with this little flesh
he thought his skin, loose as a bass drum,

would bob each beat the heart leaped at it
the stare down with the sink trying to forget

how often he’s been through the drill
was the easiest way to avoid the mirror

no fluids show up today either to stir the whirlpool
blurring his hazy outline in the ceramic

Nostalgia is the memories where you over look the mistakes
Nausea is when the mistakes are all that you remember

times he killed himself to live for someone
multiplied by times he lived to let someone flourish within

sum total days required to resurrect back to scratch
love’s contagion camouflaged in memories: concealed, conceived

cohabitating in the unsuspecting syntax of routine chores.
love’s spores burgeoning: imperious, impetuous

insinuating trauma at the speed of free association.
then again, there’s a carnival out there.

toxic or not, the candies are coated with irresistible colors
it’s only a matter of time before the tap water is running again

Promote. Poetry.
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