Or Be Lonely

Hand in glove
sans idiom
this idiot
wants hand in hand
a symptom of memory
asymptomatic before her

Vaguery a necessity
in tracing love
her a vaguery
name lost
in the long night
of another

Stop me
if you’ve felt this
price paid post-mortem
in warmth
that together
we might find again

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Eternal Sunshine

Her voice
a song whose tune
was unlearned long ago
whose notes find purchase
on stray words
lure meaning to rocks
made jagged by time

Forgetting
isn’t what I expected
what I was sold
when faced with guilt
absolution for a love
that lingers still
without a name

Ex Machina

All too evident
your displeasure
manufactured
parts mass produced
piecemealed
to an argument
on demand

Pusher seeks button
for catharsis
mutual preferable
but not required
self should be assured
as beliefs
will be questioned

It’s not a mystery we needed

My love
with a word
in the bedroom

It would be over
soon enough
without her
pointless intervention
mere tarp
to make the body of years
easier to dispose

If it were clean
it wouldn’t be love
pieces dredged from fiber
years later
that moment again

In the bedroom
with one word
too many

Long Last Legs

It’s work waking
when sleep is scarce
a candle burnt at both ends
mess of insufficient light

I’ve scraped enough wax
in the aftermath
to spot a meltdown
in a flame

Sputter gone stubborn
like an unleavened miracle
rising but barely
with what’s left of its light