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In The Midst Of My Sins

i wanted a poem
like some book
taken down and
dusted off opened
up like torn pages
from some script
“it should have
been written” like
this', I wanted a
poem with thick lips
big eyes and a
dove tattoo, early
words rising from
a throaty voice, two
drinks in, I wanted
a poem like this, hands
twisted sweaty
with praying, eyes
tight shut from
the light, I wanted
a poem that said
“it’s all been done, you’re
just sinkin ships son”
photographs, floating dead
in bathrooms, bedrooms
my sins pulling at
my coattails, i
wanted
a poem.

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