October 8th, 2014


This one wrote itself in ten minutes in the interval at Bar Wotever


Now, looking back, each kiss feels like a slap,
Each tenderness a momentary pinch
Along a nerve. We rewrite inch by inch
Our history now love's become mishap

An anecdote we cry about in bars
Or to drag sympathy from lover's hearts
Who've heard it all before. The story starts
With truth each time but angry weeping mars

Our sense of what was real. There's no excuse
We lie because we hurt. Lie in our soul
Lie to ourselves. A new born gangle foal
Proceeds more smoothly. We both hate to lose

And rather than admit we lost this game
Unite in this last thing. We lie the same

I wrote this one when things had first gone bad.


I do not know quite how I sacked my muse.
Perhaps it's me that is now unemployed.
A while pale angry, now blushred annoyed.
I don't think this the ending I would choose

Terse emails. Sudden silence on the phone.
Skin touched in memory but not again.
Bright sun outside. I feel it should be rain.
A strangle vine of lust that months had grown

Needed to be plucked out. It's for the best
though dirt and mud is scattered on the rug.
You go cold turkey when you quit a drug.
I'll go to bed at night and get some rest

Not toss, nor turn. Hands crossed; and in my head
No fever. I am calm. Sad as the dead.