With Permission of the Author

The incomparable Anntelope is one of my favorite cyber-list acquaintances. We both have the same kind of wider view of the world and I love her dry sense of humor. She's also an accomplished poet and posted this on-list today in the context of a discussion. I found it sad but moving and wanted to share it.

*The Naked Ache*
(aka *substance abuse*)

they want me to paint its portrait
as it tears around the corner
the tip of its tail showing
only for an instant

they want me to tell them
*how does it FEEL*
when your blood turns to pus
and runs down the inside of your leg
stinking so bad
children make faces
and tell their mothers

Ah, but what*s the point
even after I do my best to explain
regurgitating my innards and a few vital organs in the process

they still don*t get it
they look coldly at my guts in a pile
then simply tell me
to *just say no.*

Okay
*NO*
I said it
now fucking what?

copyright Anntelope - Winter - 2002
http://www.eastvillagepoetry.com

*[Editor's Note: The asterisks denote other symbols that Blogger doesn't reproduce and I don't know to restore. The original is more graphicly beautiful. Sorry and thanks Anntelope.]