Charlie

there is a low sound
heard only late at night
when the noise of everything else dies down
a just audible moan
long drawn out
almost as a sussuration
not quite guttural
if
a strangled scream cry
from those just in sleep
letting out the steam
or is it grief
of what
could’ve
should’ve
would’ve
might’ve been
if only
lord give me a break
when will
he die
she die
they die
my ship come in?
this is a special moment that only a very select few
get to hear
our sleepers never will
even though this is their tribal cry
the mudglue that holds them together
in the half slept mornings
putting socks on one a time
while listening to the radio
playing sad songs to unrequited love
sex only for sale
jealousy as a virtue
they know these
in mismembered words
to hold up their day
for what else is there?
they know within their core
that for
if only
could’ve
should’ve
would’ve
might’ve been
lord give me a break
when will
he die
she die
they die
their ship will come in

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