drifting - a very rough copy of a tanka sequence

drifting

depressed

because my books

weren't nominated

for a Lammy

fierce

like Plath’s

“great African cat,”

I have let things slip

the flowers need water

but they weigh me down with

the present

of life

eat everything I breathe

like dangerous animals,

free, and completely empty

gift

nameless, flat, black

and white

intrusion of eyes

I am a new persona

caught

in a neurotic stillness,

anesthetized

until there is little,

if anything, left to do but sleep

I dream

about alcoholic binges

one night stands

in bathhouses

where the thick vapor of lust

fogs

my sense of identity

and cold

mouths suck

on my face

I am wrapped

inside my own

mirror

laughing, struggling

with my pride

until I break loose

step on the needle shards

of my life

tamed, old, fat

looking for a way out

of this room

where I once felt

the need

to write about myself

until the tulips turned red

the guilt

subsided

and life went on to bigger

and better heights

deep within my failing sight