The Bitter Lump

                    or

Upon Looking Into the New York Times Wedding Notices

The bitter lump  

rises up

from the pit

The pit

that once nurtured

all that crap:

the “love,”

        the imagined future.

 

The lump sits 

 at the base of the throat

under the bile:

you lazy coward.

You showed me who you were.

Between

the choked voice

and the mouth

that now

sucks in

anything

and everything

but

love.

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