Poem: This maddening itch in my heart is like–

This maddening itch in my heart is like–

by Frank Vincentz

  • poison woven into tissue,
    sepsis radiating from the site
    where unspoken words putrefy
    in anger and hope, toxifying
    blood, anxious for salve.
  • dreams and wishes withering
    under reality’s hot sun, lost;
    an empty hole in a brick wall
    betraying its completion;
    absence yearning for touch.
  • desire unnamed, the chafing
    of which tears the hole wider,
    fraying thread and loosening
    buttons until the entire fabric
    compels thorough refashioning.
  • a deep wound beginning to heal,
    pain throbbing and dissolving
    per some strange rhythm, work
    which scratching would undo,
    requiring patience, toleration.

 

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