scraping up the dregs
the morning after the night
before says it all
scraping up the dregs
of dreams ground to fine powder
and squandered in heat
scraping up the dregs
in one redundant motion
after another
scraping up the dregs
to save what can be saved and
hold what can be held
scraping up the dregs
ignoring everything else
because it’s all just
scraping up the dregs
in a desperate fury
of gnawing hunger
scraping up the dregs
on the floor and the table
and the fingernails
scraping up the dregs
in the sink and the dirty
dishes and the knives
scraping up the dregs
from needles and razor blades
and scraps of paper
scraping up the dregs
from skin and bone and greasy
hair and bleeding lips
scraping up the dregs
in filthy ashtrays and cups
and charred wire screens
scraping up the dregs
in kitchens and bathrooms and
closets and hallways
scraping up the dregs
in garbage cans and broken
glass and old laundry
scraping up the dregs
in the bed and in the crib
and in the arm chair
scraping up the dregs
in the yard and the driveway
and the parched gutter
scraping up the dregs
in the eyes and in the blood
and in the marrow
scraping up the dregs
in the heart and in the soul
and in the spirit
scraping up the dregs
in filth and grime and stink and
never ending shame
scraping up the dregs
in shit and piss and puke and
pus and maggots and
scraping up the dregs
and scraping up the dregs and
scraping up the dregs