Tonight's Poet Corner: Dripping

Dripping
by Belinda Roddie

I'm sorry, love - it's gotten
everywhere. In fact, a think
a smidge of it is matted right
in your hair. Here, a quick shower
will do the trick. Stuff's slick enough
to be washed straight down the drain.

Mania's a hell of a cerebral drug, and
sometimes, it spurts out like an oil
pipe's burst (Fuck you, Keystone XL).
At least it doesn't cling like oil,
just like how I cling to you.

And all my bowtie-sporting neuroses
run in circles around their cubicles,
snorting coke through coffee straws
and screaming, spilling java everywhere.
More apologies, darling - just means
more mess to clean up tonight.

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