sisifis is

a smell like lonely
sex and
neglect
hair in matted curls falling
over shoulders
skin in flakes
spilling like
waste
fluids on bare
umbilical remnant
forming thinking
of wet
places
faces
hard
spaces like
basements flooded
boxes of old photos
history and
lit candles
flickering
carried
out
set in the sun to dry

“are you okay?”
honest eyes with
worry and a bit of
pity
enough to push over
luck
a balance struck
like a coin on its side
no heads or tails
win/loss
success or fail
blame pride
all the same
not to complain
just a response
like
“it’s been a day”
what’s not shown is not seen
somewhere between
truth and a lie
not to dip low and hide
but neither to know cry
see got dry eyes
(never mind the dark lines)
sad attempt to belie
what’s inside
lime and dirt piled high
upon this
hideous sense of
decay
used to be okay
whatever happened to the new day
sun rise but dark and gloom still stay
feel chill as blue->grey
eyes peeled for the top of the hill
green field in which to lay
knowing such a space never will be known
why not set down the stone and go home
let the gods push it on their own
or maybe it can sink below
grow moss and erode slow
who would care
who would even know?

sometimes, to grab hold,
you need to let go.