The Pour (poem)

My cup, it runneth over:

My life is full,

A cereal bowl

I carry, ‘crost the carpet.

 

My cup, it runneth over:

I add and take

And pile, and make

A thousand mounds of owning.

 

My cup, it runneth over:

The corners creep,

The order seeps,

Until I’m suffocated.

 

My cup, it runneth over:

My flesh, it stretches

Miles, o’er wretched

Writhing microbiomes.

 

My cup, it runneth over:

So, too, my heart

And mind infarct,

Necrotic from indulgence,

 

Till I obstruct,

Hand over top,

And stop

This mad decanting.

 

 

Copyright 2018 Andrea LeDew