Ode To Nancy Botwin

She sweetens the light

at the end of my tunnel,

leaking of mystery

caught wayward fantastic.

--

I open my fridge

seeking florescent solace

bleeding of boredom

and anti-depressants.

--

She comes once a week

in through liquid hot crystal

and lasts half an hour,

fading back into the ether.

--

I welcome her home

to my sunny delusions

then sour and sigh

amidst scenes of my sickness.

--

I am bathed in the maraschino

cherry of exhaustion

at half past tomorrow,

dull eyed with regret.

--

She's only a notion

but always my savior

if just 'til hiatus

when it dies of exposure.

--

Her wicked wide eye drops

to a promise born broken

in an eggshell of blues

with the yoke torn and running

--

like a nose choked with coke,

blowing out shards of horse shit

gummed to my optimism

like the sole of an unfortunate shoe.