Joseph Jengehino

Drunken Heart

a drunken heart

can't be found

in atomic era motels

with neon cowboys

and empty swimming pools

in bus stations

that map the algebra

of human convergence

or the dais

of basement barstools

but I can make life drawings

from the exhaled smoke

of each cigarette

of the crimes

I've committed

against you

you can take the road

the oily tarmac

to where the sun commits suicide

on an infinite number

where the earth

turns in on itself

and makes imprints

of conversations

for those

that may or may not

remember

appalachia arrives over the dashboard

a bluegrass gospel

a lonesome mountain heart

strong as the back of John Henry

the skies turn to carbon

glowing with the plasma

of the lamplight

of eastern tennessee

memories of a flightless bird

your wrists lashed to bed posts

blood from a bitten lip

tasting like ferrous

cradling your skull

wiping tears

until there was famine

inside your chest

since then we broke loose

from the earth's axis

and I've become well versed

in the dynamics of free fall

and want nothing more

than to just hit the ground