Guilty

To drink one’s self sober
again, abstract way. Doppelgänger,
neon warrior, I live wide
open & ready, like a sick eye.

The city is still strange, the kiss
our names pledged, wet hand
in back pocket. Lost but not caring,
I kept after you, chasing.

Once I awoke in a cell,
yet wasn’t sure if it was a dream.
My name was called out,
& my mouth so dry

I couldn’t reply. They took my shoes,
my jeans & belt, placed my
wallet in a steel box. Blue swarm
before my eyes, river in a quick

glance from the barred window. 
I couldn’t say if I loved you, when you
held me down, writhing. Though
I whispered your name over & over. 

Little lights flickered behind my closed eyes. 

 

 

About the Author: Charles Kell is a PhD student at The University of Rhode Island and editor of The Ocean State Review. His poetry and fiction have appeared in The New Orleans Review, The Saint Ann’s Review, and elsewhere. He teaches in Rhode Island and Connecticut.