I can't begin to tell you how I feel
about all the people I have loved
who have died.
It is like a great big bottomless chasm
that is airless, where no words exist,
and when I try to find it, reach into it,
it becomes even more airless
and wordless.
It is like trying to reach out
and touch my shadow.
What can I say?
I don't know?
We said everything.
And we loved each other.
Because we did.
And then we didn't.
And we said nothing.
Because we didn't.
There is nothing left to say.
But I want to.
It's just that I no longer know how.
With you.
I had a day dream
With you in the main scene,
what do I do with that now?
War? What is it good for?
Extracting some sort of prestige,
From relatives you could never
have possibly known.
The march. The medals.
Existing in the nutmeggy hue,
of making claims to have descended
From one of the good old boys.
I miss your ginger hair
and the way you like to dress.
Those blue jeans on you
and the way you don’t give a shit.
I think of the things you like to do
and that I’m now one of them.
Why don’t you come over
so we could cuddle and kiss.
Because I like the way you smell
and how you like to caress.
You could spend the night for once
and we could wake up in bliss.
You say it is hit and miss,
but I say that you could commit,
Nothing big and scary,
but it’s the way it is, admit it.
We could stare into each other’s eyes
and then wave and say good bye.
Looking back is romantic,
as I turn the corner and walk away.
Never sure if I will see you again,
knowing it is just a matter of when.
The picture of the tortured artist
DOES anything I say make sense?
The picture of the tortured artist
Does ANYTHING I say make sense?
The picture of the tortured artist
Does anything I say make sense?
The picture of the tortured artist
Does anything I SAY make sense?
The picture of the tortured artist
Does anything I say Make sense?
The picture of the tortured artist
Does anything I say make SENSE?
