Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Fast Asleep

Another one bites the dust.
It’s like that now.
Couple after couple
falling down,
falling in to the abyss.
The depressed.
The Jew.
The Catholic.
The tailor and the Italian.
The drunk.
The squadron of bachelors
raped by wedded bliss.
They creep up
and reach their pitiful hands into the jeweled box.
They lick the fringe of pink,
taste the flower inside,
and succumb
to, “what’s for breakfast?”
Years
of mailboxes
and kids
and 4th of July’s later,
they are scratching their heads
and balls
and wandering up and down hallways
like lost pigs.
The dream.
The gate.
The colors,
all grey now.
Their sexless jails
leave them no where to go.
The bachelor’s dust
that once made them glisten so
is no more.
Where did it go?
Where did we all go?
Love affairs
sleep
hardly at all.