making small talk
i'm not cut out for this
in here, i could stay
watching effortless habits
as they bloom in my chest
why is it? everything points
down, the direction of the
hair i would like to inhabit
bobbing like a hook-light with
each step she makes

the soft treads in linear explosions
thrown against my ears
not for consideration
simply to make me
want a pallid love that i
don't need
and
cannot have

sitting right there
this isn't supposed to be hard
again the subconscious motion

asking, why?
what is it that
makes me ache for
something new
(something more)

i'm tired
tired of waiting for disapproval
feet planted in the ground
eating food that is too complex
to make sense

it eats me instead

i am devoured
with more feeling than
i can remember
ripples flow as,
hair bobbing without me,
i am abandoned.

03/16/2007

Posted on 03/16/2007
Copyright © 2024 Corey Lockaby