Begging Doesn't Count

Your voice is raw from howling

in empty diner parking lots;

under flickering red signs

and unfamiliar neon bar lights.

You're now dry of any tears;

you've filled basins and

corner store beers with them;

they've left their rosy marks.

Your heart has been bleeding

into cheap motel bedsheets

and pooling cold in your chest;

its touch is all you know.

But you're still aching heavenward

although the twilight sky is dark

and there's nothing in it for you;

isn't it stupid to think you're important?

You're clumsy, clawing your prayers-

but you're desperate for something

less than Hell inside your face;

and mercy is in a long midnight walk-

in a glass of bourbon

in the static of the TV

in the grin of someone gone

and all those tainted songs.

Author's Note

S.W.