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Poem 11107

January 25, 2007

It was a westerly wind that blew love away.
Like ticker-tape news stories
   and flash photography
It was gone before noticed, and
   each case and circumstance
   gone unnoticed.

Spring didn’t falter (summer either)
For it was too sudden to make a dent in the cycle.
No storm
   no brewing doom
   no staggering wind
The westerly wind was merely an
   under-exaggerated breeze,
Blowing too fast, too hard
   to move a hair on a head.

Love was simply scooped
Glass encasements lifted to set it free
From every museum
Every museum that is a brain,
   a house,
   a park or letter.
And cut to the quick, we were,
   (we are)
Too fast to be yet bleeding.
But soon, I can imagine, they will say,
When they finally notice.

Soon, we will be bleeding.
Soon, love will return to heal us.

On they go, buying store imitations
   for the time, to hold them over.
These are the chili-dog loves.
They fill but have no meat,
   no sustenance
Past the hour and a half that they fill.
A flush, and off they go, again,
   to buy, and bide time.

Love packed in every corner,
   every happy face and
   shiny shrink-wrapped package.
Even in ice cream that they sell at the end of town.

There we sat,
   over ice cream
Each talking to the other,
   each listening in turns.

The conversations (intimate conversations)
   our hands had
   filled silence we’ve yet to notice.
A silence too cover up to hear.
Our words a quilted blanket,
   genuine in their own place,
   as long as not in hands.

We at our ice cream,
   each styrofoam cup filled with
   store-brand emotion,
   yet empty.
This is not love,
   but it looks like it.

Even while we make-out in parking lots,
   in apartments,
   sending tiny byte-sized letters
   over westerly winds
We know this isn’t love.

And maybe, one day
   equally unnoticed
The wind will change directions.

Or we’ll run out of love-flavored food.

No preservatives or artificial flavors
Zero grams of fat, trans fat removed
No sugar, no starch
No texture creamy goodness.

Maybe we’ll run out.

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3 comments

  1. I think this might be your best one yet.


  2. I love this one dear.


  3. wow, again.



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