times not happened
he spoke like you
he even sounded like you
my body dissolves
i am only ears and eyes
smells and touches
it’s like loving a shadow
it’s a half-truth with full strength
double shot pain
it’s like you stole his voice box, Max;
and it’s barbaric and it’s ugly
it reeks of non-sex
of times not happened and words unsaid
of scotland and london and valis and god
it reeks of all those years.
i’m way too young for this middle aged pain
and i cry as i write this and that’s ugly too
when i’m old and grey with two kids
and a husband
call me up and we’ll fit the years
in the middle into an evening
and i’ll call it closure
and you’ll call it coffee
loop the loop
Begin again and again.
I live in the interim;
Between what and what
yes and no
ums and ahs
The moment after the breath in
but before the breath out
that’s me; a tight pause
felt but not seen
a quick glance
a cough, a sneeze.
I wear anxiety with ease
and there are so many
I’d like to please
Walk into the room,
take off your hat,
congratulate yourself on walking on two legs
and thank your forefathers.
Pour your heart out then drink it up again,
quickly before the pain sets in
or just after if you’re adventurous.
it’ll distract from your boredom
and tickle your self-indulgence.
Love your friends as though they are your enemies;
they’ll hurt you the most if you aren’t careful.