I can picture her with her lovers,
(guys in the night, groping in bars…
promises whispered under the
neon-glow;
awkward morning-afters….)
It stings like a slap in the face,
like a long-hidden lie.
The worst part comes
when I find myself
still able
to think sweetly of her.
What form of hatred
can compel me
to hurt myself
so much?
Once more then….
Sometimes dreams
Fall from the sky
(sometimes,
not now, though).
They do,
though…
Sometimes.
They do,
though…
sometimes.
There is a pain,
a single ringing bell,
driving into me,
it is pounding out
a panoply
of terror
that is unrelenting.
I love this.
I keep re-seeing
(if that’s a thing)
the location
in Glasgow
where the blank-cab
picked me up.
I do not remember
exactly where
this was
but the image
is crystalline.
I don’t want to active
any meaning
but being human,
I must.
I had yet to lean
on anyone
that summer,
but in a few days
I would be sharing a room
with an old friend
in Dublin.
This was,
in a way,
my last solo travel
and so it became burned
on my brain
and crops up
from time-to-time
up remind me
of solitude
as companion.
Wisdom takes time,
time takes patience,
patience takes practice,
practice takes failure,
failure takes fortitude,
fortitude takes guts,
guts take enzymes,
enzymes take cheese,
the cheese stands alone.
Ink (flows, stains). 