Poem to a lover now lost.
I travelled and I rested,
believing in the makeshift and the new.
All the miles I invested,
yet empty through and through.
I woke up under skyways
sweeping the debris of stars away
beginning again, renewed.
But you won’t be there
for to be there
was eating you.
All the travel we unravelled
only brought us slow decay.
For we figeted and fought it,
this inevitable absorbing
we could never pursue.
We would place our props
along the blurred periphery
of our undefined threshold,
to breathe a sigh of relief
and let the other be thief
to the treasures no one else sees.
Let me arrange the neons on wet streets,
derange the arabesques
with spinning wheels
like film reels repeatedly watched,
this poem to a lover now lost
These marquees mark me as an easy target.
Distraction requires action
to appease the restless confinement
glossed over with comfort.
I’ve yet to see the resemblance
in all these fleeting reflections
but know enough of illusions
to realize these are wistful impressions
of some nostalgic origin
that has reached the end of the line.
Irretrievable for a time in the leaving,
limbs lose their form
in forlorn distances
of cold tracks and cracked sunsets.
The skin of the abyss
that wandering seems to fit you with
may take awhile to shake off,
the luster of a poem to a lover now lost
behind the glass of terminals
this relationship was never terminal
but full or port and archway
full of embrace and pushing away
emnity erased for a time but the scars stay
the way a bed can be empty but a scent will betray
the other’s form, still felt
even after we would stray
into chasing our own myth
along the edges of this fading passion play.