the view from above.

when i stand straight and put chin to chest,
the top of your head crests over.
i can watch the hair thinning in tufts
and accept that you are receiving it
in small doses. aging and losing the pretty

that you are so fond of. forming a shadow
of the man you never became. a slow process
would have been much more rewarding
having watched you for years before.
but a series of seventeen months

slides into a slow focus. the cruel
twisting green that barrels up and into
my stomach. looking down is spinning out
and losing grip on this escaping path.
it leads out of your mouth, into my empty head.

11/12/2007

Author's Note: afternoon scribble, a few days late.

Posted on 11/12/2007
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