bad nights


by Jonathan Hunter-Kilmer

ice and ice-picks in my spine

spasms soak turned as by brine

soften transform taste of gall

left too long a line and pall

swimming in bits of debris

pills blur sight weaken the knee

wait and hope for journey's end

sleep wake up nerves break extend

put forth foot and fingers feel

just remember what is real

nausea the spine won't snap

nor leave vision with a map

You alone my mind grabs on

trail in wind but center dawn

Love the day or night forsake

cradle me in mercy's wake

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