Deprivation

by MYRYN VILLAFLOR

[they slither, and they hiss
like talking serpents , as they pass
through those discarded streets]

his head’s a sanctuary of sounds,
where he would hear his father
sing him to sleep

[they drift, and they hover
like cigarette smoke would
inside that shady space]

his heart’s an ocean, and
women are like waves; reflecting,
and refracting along the shoreline of his life

[if only I could stop the sky
from raining,

the sky,
from raining]

then, no night would be too long,
but, well, he’s drunk and stoned
and he’s traveling solo

[will someone sadder,
please, tell him,
please]

his skin’s a collage of
despondency; a patchwork of
a midday muse.

merdivinity

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