The Clarity of Despair

Wrap me in
sticky cellophane,
make it gritty and obscene.
Drop me in a
black sea without bottom
where every dead
fish knows my name.
You don’t even need a reason.
I won’t float or flinch.
I’m right here,
a scab on a wall
of remorse.
Take my eyes out
with an ice pick please,
so I can no longer covet
what the moon won’t show me.
If this sounds like hyperbole,
trust me, it’s nothing
but a love story.
The devil’s never scared
when he’s bobbing for apples
or when the chest he’s
gnawing through is
as frail as mine.

Len Kuntz is a writer from Washington State and the author of four books, most recently the story collection, This is Why I Need You, out now from Ravenna Press. You can find more of his writing at

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1 Response to The Clarity of Despair

  1. Franny Glass says:

    I very much like this poem, and can identify with the apathy the speaker is talking about here, how it’s liken to a gladly-welcomed, torturous death, eye-to-eye with his own darkness. The voice of the poem is strong, line by line. Len, you should be very proud of this poem. Great work!

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