Leveler Poetry Journal
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Man at the End of Something


Admit the day’s veering toward something

else, the tiny flag of your heart inverted.

Admit the pause between words, wearing

away at the febrile. Admit jealousy, the want

for what you have if you didn’t have it.

Admit hunger. And an absence of which

you are far too aware. Admit the necessity

of breathing, the sound of several thousand

humming birds in torpor, ruby throats

pinched against their breasts. Admit sorrow,

which is the only heirloom that lasts.


Admit the deity, hallowed be his hollow

name. Admit change, but not so much

its progress or lack thereof cannot be seen.

Admit intrigue. Admit hangnail. Admit lovely,

how it casually and often passes you by.

Fail, because you won’t find respite.

Recourse, only as an occupation for the hands.

Reject delicate because you have walked

on glass for reasons. Admit deduction,

how easy it was to itemize. Then possibility,

but limit it to the aroma of an orchid, wilting.

John Hogan