To the art of never seeing you again

Like a sleeping sloth’s pulse
Or the top end build up to the ‘wet’
His alcoholic body shook
And his humid mind slowed

It hovered over a thought
Aggravating a sore
To weep
Mirroring a slow motion carousel to recovery

Yesterday, as the thudding sun set on the night before’s insane city
And binging on that last scotch, pill, club…need.
I said
‘If we ever see each other again, my party mate, it will be too soon’
And thus brought it all, like a crisp clear wine, to its inevitable sweet end.

Go well.

To the art of never seeing you again

Robert Knapman

Adelaide, Australia

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