by Paul Edward Costa
The second of my two daily pills
fell to the floor
where its capsule cracked
in half,
seventy-five milligrams
setting fire to the old apartment
where you used to live
and every former tenant
filled with nostalgia’s audacity
since a group’s lamentation
is never really a lament,
where every step taken
lands next to a framed mirror
labelled as a painting
so narcissism simply becomes
art appreciation
while the stumbling blind can be openly mocked
as barbarians
and are.
[Paul Edward Costa is a writer and spoken word artist who has published over fifty stories, articles, and poems in periodicals such as Aphelion: The Webzine of Science Fiction and Fantasy, Brick Books, Crack the Spine Literary Magazine, Entropy Magazine, and REAL: Regarding Arts and Letters. His novella Dark Magic on the Edge of Town was put out by Paperback-Press.]
