the subtle flutter of aimless
hands, clenching around air,
itching to tear the thick
distance of our space together
It's hard to be here, not having
There was always this distance, though
a fool thought otherwise once, and a
beast honed that space, filed it sharp
enough to cleave the most stubborn depth
But still I returned (where else could I go?)
a little less swagger and a little more
empathy—damn them all anyhow
Is this what you needed?
to love a man not a man, to
sing knotted chords in the dark with
a demon split—serving a house equally
divided, walled off brick by brick
stacked a hundred years deep
When I meet your eyes I find no
words (I must have left them in the dark)
I cannot speak, cannot convey anything of importance
because there is nothing important
A rube reclaims his humanity—
front page news anywhere else
with anyone not you
This must be old hat for you,
and I hate your lie—
"I'm glad you're back."
Why? Because of this sightless currency,
this worm fed on memories of the dead, the mulch of
murder and mayhem and us?
"I wish you'd say something."
And let it begin again?
Only this time fully invested, loving you with
all my heart, (okay dead, but a bargain nonetheless)
mind, (shall I begin with poetry?)
And of course—big finish, blaring trombones—my
soul—not the James Brown kind—the
I want to die when I hurt you kind
Is that what you want? Is that
why you're here, looking watery around the
eyes, peering ever so closer at my face, my skin
Just stop. I know what it is,
what you need to find—
"I still love you."
And there, see? Space—
not a bit of it now