James Benger

edge

she sleeps on the
edge of the mattress
never intends to
that’s just where she always is
when she wakes up
doesn’t matter much
not like that mattress is on
anything higher than the ground

it’s been this way for too long
always on the edge of something
but never quite there
always stagnating
never any kind of 
cleansing resurgence

the cigarettes are stale
the subway piss is stale
the exhaust always 
looming in the air is stale
the tips at the club are stale
the men’s half assed 
entitled advances are stale
the lonely bourbon afterward is stale
the edge of the mattress is stale

everything about life is

so much so
she begins to wonder if maybe
it’s not life
but her

she thinks she can remember a time
when things made sense
and when they didn’t
it didn’t matter
because it really didn’t

now nothing adds up
and everything matters
and nothing is right
and she’s not sure she understands
the words fresh and clean