Sunday, February 19, 2012
--THIS IS YOUR BIG DAY, SO YOU SHOULD PROBABLY SMILE A LOT
I am running to you
in the rain
blue frozen stain,
a scratched-off signature or promissory note of the pain
I have caused you,
no different than trampled on trust,
a violation of every promise I ever made.
I feel like a villain
because the truth is
you should lift your head high
toward the sun.
It loves you so much.
It has its arms encircling your waist,
its fingers in your hair.
It is breathing bright light
across your cheeks at this very moment.
Be well, my loveliest.
You are so busy trying to keep your teeth clean,
your skin unlined and your laundry creased.
I was sordid fruit with tentacles like groping calamari
and you were a satchel of Kant prose and hairspray.
What a fucking couple.
Thank God that’s come to an end.
Thank the Lord I never think of you
In the end,
in the earth
we scrape for new beginnings,
shame and raised specters of the hollow truths we once leaned on so forcefully.
I see your face wearing a sheen of sweat.
I wonder why you work so hard when all it leads to is