Sobriety drags its freshly-done nails down
an orange chalkboard, cankering my gums,
leaves its motor running outside my two a.m.
window, puffing diesel through the cracks.
All day long, people’s eyes slide away,
silence chafing like wet wool, clinging
to my tongue with a spoiled milk curdle.
Color my sighs black. Yogic breathing
pales them charcoal. They throb
like sick nerves beneath an ibuprofen
blanket. My keening jags bilious. With
a whiff of mildew, I ex off the third day.