Hangover

The brain pulses,
convulsing and full of
conversations,
always wondering when
the pulsing may end.

All the lengths of Time
have passed, mercilessly
sliding by without
signals of dissipation
or any kind of peace.

Tiny twists of fate
bloom upward,
inventing again what
was lost in the
silences now melted.

The catharsis of this
fate combines with
the uncertainties hidden
behind closed hearts
and in empty bottles.

When will the cycle
break- when will the
sour feeling of
solitude and weakness
burn out, finally hydrated?

With these winds
Comes Green and Color
and a peaceful
resolution to a night filled
with disorder, Calm’s opposite.

Now, maybe with some
water and a few sprinkles
of interest, the aftereffect
will cease, after years of
wondering when.

Solitude and sour sweat
can be replaced with
equilibrium, position,
all in flower beds that
peek up from Hades.

Still yet, a cure-all is
never found. Night sweats
and early mornings
do nothing to contain
misplaced passions.

The earth is still thawing
and April’s attempts to
sober up the landscape
prove in earnest and
without due appreciation.

All that can cure these
trembles of uncertainty
is the patience Fate
gives as the petals turn
to face the Sun.

The heart cannot remain
hungover forever-
the buzzing fades, the
flowers grow upward,
the dizziness disappears.