Life is a short breathe you take
just to feel the blood from your heart. Sometimes I wish I had
drown in that river, seen a last vision of the olive-green waters.
Other days, I am too foolish or dumb to care.
The ocean would have been a better place to reconcile
my shriek of a Goad.
Sorrow is a reaction to profane mistreatments of the heart.
I regret everything about love.
If it was necessary to hear me (cringe) wail
shout, cry, whimper, fail, die---
to the nostalgia which is now your odor,
and the summers we never got to spent together.
Maybe now, the air breaks the bitter.
(I tried but could not give our gold-plaited
romance the drive to the moon it needed.)
I've cleaned up my rounds
and your empty shells. (we shouldn't shoot
at one another)--- You shot me dead though.
It's a blessing that we are still
roaming this knotted earth.
As the axis returns to it's Hinge---
Has everything turned my green yet?
I suppose I was an optomist---
I guess now, I wouldn't lie so much.
I'd probably even bake dark swiss malt snacks
from my little opto-conceit---
But I am a pessimist, Loaded on dirty
counselors and road perfume. Trudy knew. And
she told no one.
Days dodding the blind Kiss we shared on the basement stairs.
The world is always fighting me
for oxygen---
You'd respond but it wouldnt do me good.
It never did do me any good. Refusal to know any further
what it is you buy and sell, reap or sow.
And
in the mistaken serve of flattery--
I remain dry but cool nontheless.