Kristen de Kline - #43 - Screwed

it was going to be a poem about
popping corks clinking flutes
cheers queers here's to us none bloody like us

you were going to pen words about foreign ports, roads-to-nowhere
a lone body, shadowed by strobes, writhing
dancing or death throes
footsteps on the dance floor

it was going to be a poem about a dead end road
 a lone body
stumbling, stuttering
ground
     down
pummelled
in the mortar and pestle
tossed in the wok
heat on high
scorched
burnt out on the battlefield

over the rainbow
in the same courtroom
only seven days and three hours ago
you shared a smoke with a random
her words leaked out from under the cubicle:
'fuck fuck fuck'
today's verdict, you both agree:
screwed
     screwed
          screwed

pit bull lawyer parades past:
     pink permed peroxided
blonde why are they always blonde
nestled under her armpit:
folders overloaded with pieces of paper
nail it down
hammer it home
they're just that:
     weightless
     unenforceable
Notworththepapertheyarewrittenon

you can hear laughter, not canned
just-a-piece-of-paper ha ha hah
'paltry crimes' on A4 sheets
blowin' in the wind
     thump - is that a heart over-beating?
turning my head
pretending I don't see
can't stand being in my own head
house is a fuckin' mess
haven't eaten showered cleaned up
pieces of paper
weightlessly winging it
one word reverberating:
screwed screwed screwed
turn your head
don't look now
hammered
nailed
crushed
turn don't look
you're screwed