On Hold

My resume holds no job. This drug is what I possess. And problems, ongoing dimensions of pretension exceeding rainbows. Clothes tossed, deceits whispered at daybreak. The lover pieces puzzles while one more slumbers, his wine-burdened toasts forgettable, vanishing even as I see castles in the air weaving tangled webs of impossible thread, good girl, honest, always striving, sober, smart and waiting to assist ladder-climbers and religious zealots, the dream a sky in my lungs arranges me dizzy, approved by the snobs I might be jealous of. All of a sudden the lover calls and there he is, aware, whiffing of sprayed starch, observing these eyes, the glossy eyeballs. I’ll deny kilograms to him as the sun swaps colors, creams of yellow flushing into bloodshot and at night, the moon’s glow capturing another lover and the hold of my drug.