Self-Loathing

suffering as though bereaved. knowing absence and loss

as deep fissures –– fractures in my bones.

it’s a sentiment in this body that feels laced

with intent and control that’s about the need,

the acquiescence. enduring a lapse

to executioner from jury, from judge.

***

when deciding my judge ––

that which is faced post-interment or loss

of Self –– the dysregulated, the one with the lapse

in discernment is not my only option. question my bones,

what i determine to be fundamental need.

as a thole my healing comes brightly laced.

***

however i seek to mend must be laced

with acuity and kindness. to judge

myself with decency and candor, i need

only grow sick of the asperity. a loss

can feel like death even without bones

displayed on altars. but what of the lapse?

***

if i spent less time on time, there would be no lapse,

but as it stands, your argus sits, soaking in laced

glenlivet, eyes on clocks ‘round an acrid room burdened with bones.

a figment. a husk. a cynic. a judge.

i know not one but two ways to mediate such loss:

avoid the mend and re-establish the need.

***

i have convinced myself i need

suffering like i need to be untethered –– a lapse

in my philosophical priming. something like loss

comes to have unexamined meaning, laced

with contradictions. i dare not judge

others who feel a festered marrow in their bones.

***

present pain is not ubiquitous suffering, but both can be found in the bones.

i say now, if i am stuck with the need

to tell the two apart, i will remember to judge

may be an exacting task, but it is a clement one. a lapse

into old habits can prove fatal, has proven fatal, and laced

with the memory of recovery are those of great loss.

***

but if there is loss, then i will see it like rings in my bones,

like age and dignity laced ‘round live oaks. i will submit to the need

for a long lapse between myself and my old petty judge.