We are different in that we do not.
We say this as if this were some great revelation as we pass
]]>Your quiet quiet-so-quiet domesticity
Are you enjoying casseroles of mixed beans, baked in their juice?
the occasional fried pork-chop, side of red-boiled onions.
]]>By now, I cannot say, only that you are there.
This much is undeniable.
They tell me, dreams are dreams are dreams, yet some prescience here.
I see you there, sheets twisted about your waist, a summer mess, window fan churning, churning.
]]>Strange how they seem to lack now in hours, despite the usual twenty-four.
We slip so easily beneath the heavy quilt of winter,
Seeking in the darkness some warmth, a refuge or shelter –
]]>Not to, impossible to go. It’s all a matter of practicality.
Who can argue with his convenient logic.
No matter that it is inconvenient for me –
]]>just a vehicle - here to there.
It only hammers– I am here;
I am yours, only not there to show.
]]>or is it just me who sees that you have nothing that you want to offer –
not that you’d give me anyway.
]]>or is it just me who sees that you have nothing that you want to offer –
not that you’d give me anyway.
but hey, ain’t this how we play?
]]>