“you’re very reserved” she says
“like you’re here, but somewhere else
as if…”
“haunted?” I complete her sentence
“yes” she agrees

though not meant to hurt
this troubles
both in its accuracy and inaccuracy
once again caught in a woman’s intuitive sights
that uncanny ability to sense when there’s something wrong

but is there something wrong?

dare I tell her
that apart from personal experience and philosophy
both finite
and some therapeutic value
I see most conversation as pointless
and that since I began to write
over a quarter century ago
have always been this way
like a Hollywood set with cardboard buildings
my face a mere shell
with only emptiness to be found behind
simply the manner in which this poet has evolved
through pain and suffering
flushing things out as quickly as they’re acquired

“a good listener though”
I tell her reassuringly with a smile
she smiles back

lying comfortable on my couch
she then proceeds to tell me her life story
while I take mental notes
my reservoir of inspiration filling up again


© 2002

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10/22/2008

Posted on 10/22/2008
Copyright © 2024 Chris Sorrenti