You
You, to me, were hands plunged
into pockets and finding money
but, actually, it just stray paper
that has a strange texture, as it is starting
to rot
you are like a life line thrown
but completely, so that you pull
frantically on one end until
you reach the other, as if being mocked
as you drown
you are like a star in the night sky
light, bright, a vision seemingly
worthy of being wrapped in prose
but ultimately, completely dead
cold and barren
a dead thing that we need
to find something positive to talk of
for that is the done thing, the polite thing
to find the light that never was
you are like getting
a participation award
in a two person race
just wondering, did you run out
of silver
anyway, weirdly, improbably
I miss you, or did
after spending all that money
the wasted expenditure on
bullets
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call me sometime
from the bottom of a dry well,
or wet, makes no difference
I will run off, looking for something, anything
that will serve as a lid
you are a dame one
crosses streets for
quits jobs for
changes addresses, countries, hair colour
hell, even names for
You type existed in Homer
he just omitted them from
all of his works, the twin sisters
of the Sirens, having the opposite effect
driving sailors, screaming, away
and given all your many vices
and your exhausting stories that
start in an outward direction but
boomerang back unto yourself, ending
in a crescendo of self aggrandizement
given all that,
you were the one that left me
talk about a bitter pill
sure the end result is ideal, desired
blessed apartness
just
the journey to freedom
hurts
to think about, an admittance
of one’s lack of self preservation
