Refrain of the Sacrilege Recluse

By:Samuel McFerron

i.

Can you shadowbox the warm revitalization in brown powder stirred to dark liquid in faltering ever to when panting hallucinations take cover and remind you of your own roadmap of of your old friends’ tongues or a regular bowel movement in recurrent cozy hell you lie forever craving the smack of your palm on rusted veins tighten your belt and dip your head in the sink of aching fever.

ii.

I disregard your issue when you come out of my even though I said “I don’t want that poison in my house.” because I can’t stay mad at you. I’m not angry when I drop you at the emergency room because you know I know I don’t sweat at your thirty days. I don’t speak as you rattle through withdrawal for the fifth time on my couch. I don’t blink when I see you wearing a warning you. I don’t know iii.

Your eyes, damp, red, “Aren’t you supposed to “Aren’t you supposed to be here?” when I pull states and cities by the collar. “Aren’t you supposed to be here?” as I reshape your memories. “Aren’t you supposed to be here?” as brightened soiled shovels become the last shared substance to steal my dear friend.