An Easy Confessor

[My head is all stuffed up and gummy – my voice sounds low and rough and funny. Tissues pile up in my trash and remedies consume my cash: sudafed and disinfectant, Gatorade and cough suppressant. Now I feel all high and distant]

Something was once there but now is absent – cannot be found by coming home in absinthe scented dress shirts and reasonably clean shoes – I only hear it hinted in the early Delta blues when sons of sharecroppers were wailing into tin can microphones and then begging their patrons for some spare change to get home. They were all too aware that they don’t have what was there – but unlike me they do not wallow but draw strength from their despair. I am taking pains to notice if I left it in a notebook, studying each emotion like the secret will unfurl if I encounter the right girl – as if matter could emerge out of a complex haze of swirls and start the universe again, but this time with ever piece assembled perfectly and neatly and then folded with a crease and a light lick of the fingers to ensure that it’s complete. I only noticed absence – but I cannot say of what. I only note the wound is there, but not what made the cut. Do you know what is missing? Can you tell me what it was?

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~ by perfectionatrix on December 17, 2010.

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