Fridays of impatience, of expectancy,
of spacing out to Mahler.
I can hardly take time for trivial goings-on,
with all my superiority taking over.
I'm too busy now for you to talk
to me, for you to wait silently
for my response to the nonsense of
your lingering questions and yet I
feel your stare and impending lack of sex
if I don't at least try to make you
feel important, needed, relevant.
A familiar tune goes through my mind and
triumphant words find the paper --
epiphanies, great heralding bits of brilliance
and yet you keep waiting for me to respond.

4.18.2008

04/18/2008

Posted on 05/28/2009
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