Lent

story by: Edouard Ligand
Written on Feb 24, 2015 

I can’t write any more my sweet, the medication kicks in and it makes me ordinary as street drugs make for a crashing bore, hugging white porcelain as soul threatens to eject and fingertips grease on the glaze, accidental spittle on linoleum, boa-trachea twisting, salt-tears robbing eyesight, limbs as halting gears, sweating like air-con’s gone bad and cheroot won't light unless I pray.  Lord, lip-sync for the Common Book is all, nicotine may not be salvation, rubbing alcohol no Lenten libation, but mimicry shall never pall.

 

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