Blocked

Fingering the ear, the loop,

the handle of the mug, 

with the string of the tea bag 

with the tab that swings by sips

like a Camry crucifix

on the way to the airport -

what I'm not is resolution

I am and pushing and

pushed to the back of 

my mind.

Finger grips the tab

the tea bag in a dripping

death dangle over the bin,

like a spinal cord attached

to a head held aloft

FATALITY

resolution is death

and a new life work

is what gushes in to 

replace it.