This appears in a pre-2010 issue of
Down in the Dirt
magazine.
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Crawling
Through the Dirt
Locked Away
Steve LaVoie
It’s all locked away
All stored here
In this clean, orderly box
these feelings, oh these feelings
Of joy you can’t begin to see.
Because the box
is opague.
All white and sterile it is
Not unlike you.
You, you with syringe
Filled with some kind of serum
That makes me oblivious
As you make a withdrawal from my veins.
You store it in little vials
In boxes in the freezer
Next to the fishsticks.
I have these things too,
All in this little box
Feelings, blood,
Those darn fishsticks.
I should take this box
And burn it,
Or take it to the lake and drown it.
But still it sits there
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