Absorbed

It’s storming in Elijay,
and in Antietam the blood
still seeps into the ground,
and in that stormy place the water
will seep, once the storm abates.
And out through my bladder,
and further through the urethra,
the chemical remnants of the medication
will make it into this city’s water supply
and it too will become null.
You see, I am up
to my old tricks again,
falling apart for the night,
wanting something that
I cannot seem to provide myself.
And there is no game I can
play to bring me my heart’s desire,
as its aching is for something
otherworldly and indeterminate
that I thought could be found in others.
Alexander Graham Bell,
creator of vexing things,
beautiful things, things that
bring bad news, frustration and
such great joy.
I am looking at myself
in the mirror now where I find
a stranger just as I did
when I was 11 and first became
estranged from myself.
The battlefield was apparently muddy there,
after days of rain followed by foot traffic,
then the blood came and mixed
with that rainwater, and medicinal salves
for the wounds in the souls of men.
I am trying to conjure spirits
when they want to sleep.
They speak to me long enough
to beg for peace, and
I try not to hear their pleas.
I want those soldiers to rise up
and pity me tonight,
when I should find my way to tomorrow,
when I should just let them have
a well-deserved rest.