kentucky mule.

I feel the words rumbling in my stomach, churning, bubbling,
threatening to make the journey from my stomach and out of
my mouth, puking fill words and syllables I shouldn’t say:

So, hey, and bray like an ass. it’s just the mule unbridled.
Watch him withdraw, dive behind walls, turn away. Suddenly,
I’m sure I am going to throw up more than just “um.”

I’ve done it again, always saying too much, too soon.
I’m painfully aware of every over share. Let me start over.
I care, but let’s pretend: I forget names, I couldn’t care less.
Until the whiskey makes me miss you again. Take a long
sip from the metal mug. cut my lip on the the edge,
sharp as my tongue, the taste of copper in my mouth
mixed with the bitters and bitterness
that comes with wearing my heart on my sleeve, and
all my emotions on my face.
Another day, another night,
another mule, another try.

january 2014.

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