I grabbed the pencil
And once I felt that familiar texture,
I shut my eyes
Telling myself not to write
About her.
Every time her face crosses my mind-
Write instead about carnage
And the subject of change.
When I am reminded of her scent-
Jot down the ways in which
I can make my home a little more
Energy efficient/user-friendly.
As her words begin to linger around my ears-
Siphon all thought into something about
Music and economic dilemma.
Medical antidotes; star gazing.
Effects of smoking; London.
HDMI connections; dirty laundry.
Peace treaties; axis of symmetry.
Duraflame; FET transistors.
All just bits and parts
And tiny segments
And pieces of what make up
My segmented and scattered world
That I glue together like puzzle pieces
To cover up these thoughts
Of a now segmented and scattered relationship-
But once again I must focus on
Potent ginger and stamp price inflation.
I have to accept that every little thing
No matter how random and unlikely
Holds at least one memory
Hidden in the edges of chance
That parallels exactly to the time
When doubt had no place in my mind
When there was no room for an empty thought
And no reason to write, to think, to love
Anything but her.

01/26/2009

Posted on 01/26/2009
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