The Parsimony

It can’t have been easy.
Her life had been entirely over there
from start to finish
but that was finished
and she was starting over again
over here
with nothing
and no one helping.

I forget that sometimes
when I think only of the results:
the spare gestures
the frugality of affection
the quick words
and sometimes careless ways with others.
It’s like she didn’t know our ways here
because she didn’t.
She was new to our world.

It doesn’t forgive everything.
Nothing could.
But it is good to remember.
The context makes it easier
to understand what makes her that way
which, uh, everyone?!

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The Hopes and Dreams of a Generation

At the open mic
in front of the strangers
he played the song
that he wrote just for her.

They all rooted for him
as she,
young gamine, starry-souled
looked on, heart fully open
and ready to take in
whatever he had to offer.
The entire crowd wanted their love to win
until they heard him sing
and heard his song
and slowly
they’re support turned
into something

He said he had wanted to impress her
and he did
but he also impressed the audience
with his inability with a rhyme and rhythm
and sense of time
and the wastage thereof of all the attendants’ contributions in that regard.

But isn’t that the way of the open mic?
Isn’t that the way of the performer?
Isn’t that the way of new love?
Yes. The answers to all those was “yes.”

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It’s Not Love – Grave Return

No, you’re probably right.
I’m getting it wrong
misunderstanding the sequence.
I’m not familiar with all these terms.
It’s been a while, y’see.

It’s not love.
It must be something else that I’m feeling. Something simple or really primitive.
I wouldn’t understand love
not yet
not with you
I guess.

You’ve got a good point.
I just haven’t recognized it yet.
I can’t see so clearly
in this dim light.
If you turn the flames a little higher

perhaps I’ll understand
as well as you.

For now, though,
I’ll take your word
as surely you can tell the truth
as you have defined everything else so far.
It’s not love, is it?
And it never was.

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The Subject of You

They are bored of me speaking about you.
I am bored of me speaking about you.
You is by far not my favorite vowel
– there is one I am so much more used
to luxuriating on
and my friends,
who used to complain about me always going on
about the subject of me,
it seems would prefer
I return to the vowel of I.
But I continue to light
over and over again
only on you.

I simply do not find myself
as interesting anymore.

Perhaps that will change
as I get to know you better.
It has happened before
when the flight of fancy becomes too familiar,
I grow bored
and become more fascinated with myself
as per the norm
but right now
all my focus seems to be
on your hand gestures
the way you enter a room
your mismatched socks
and your occasional warble.

I could go on indefinitely
regarding your delights
and do.
They wish I would change the subject
which frankly
is irrelevant.
All that matters
is w hat do you think?

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The Nose

I’m sorry; you’re not doing it right.
You’re just not street enough
not dark enough
nor urban
or dangerous or hip enough.

You’re just not what we’re looking for.
You’re not what anyone’s looking for.
You’re not the sort of thing
that makes any sense
that defies any realistic expectation
of what should exist
and we cannot in good conscience
invest any further in your continuance.

It’s simple enough:
you don’t fit.
You’re beyond compare
in that there’s nothing to compare you to.
You’re unique
in that no one else
does anything near what you attempt.
Your actions are unprecedented
because no one else considered ever trying
anything akin to them.
You know about Recommended If You Like something?
We can’t do that with you;
you’re unlike everything else.

You’re uncategorically uncategorizeable
and there’s no hole
for a peg of your sort.
Come back
if you’re ever willing to change.

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I Sound Like a Monster

The people I am trying to know
sense my ulterior motives
even when I do not.
They know, somehow,
that I only want them
for their beauty or wealth,
their strength of arms or skill with a stick.
They can tell all my mischievous purposes
in seeking to meet them
even when I believe that I simply seek to them out
for they themselves.

There is always a catch
always some special thing that I want
from each and every one
a particular part that attracts me
that makes me want to bring them into my web
and make them one of my creatures
so I can be attached
to something of worth.

And these worthy people
being worthy
see me for what I am:
a hanger-on
a succubus
a leech of the least degree
and they realize eventually
that they should treat me as such


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Theory of Growth

The cars currently on the street
are parked based on the spaces available
left by the previous attendants
much like trees move toward the source of light
to grow and twist for best effect.
We all are formed
from the scars left before us.

We can only move
where our wounds
or interests
or enemies
ever allow us to.

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Financial Planning

it looks like we’re gonna have to walk back
a bunch of recent decisions.
The Tesla’s gotta go.
The Malibu vacation?
Another year.
No gold-encased shrimp boat for the foreseeable
and all subscriptions to servant-of-the-month clubs
have had to be cancelled.

Purchases were premature, apparently.
Financial planning should have been made more responsibly.
The future will have to wait.
Turns like she’s gonna live.

Maybe next year.

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Why on a night like this
so cold
so cutting
would you go so deep
ask such penetrating questions
so smoothly
so sharply?

Did I offer permission
give any hint
we had reached such a point
that you could sift through my soul
quite so easily
picking up pieces
like, like… clams?

What made you think I’d find that OK
other than how I’d wish and pray
you’d look my way,
just give me a glance with those gorgeous greys?
Why would you conceive you’d have sway
as to how I would possibly go about my days?

Stop. Cease in this razing of my spirit
assessing me so excellently.
I do not need from you
what professionals have failed to glean
after decades of attempted shrinkage.
I will not be decoded quite so easily.
I refuse.

don’t prove that I am so easily uncovered
and restlessly cast aside.
Let my disguises
be better prepared than that.

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Like Dylan I

I always wanted to get to know you better
but you never seemed to care.
All my offers, invitations and presented opportunities
fell like lead zeppelins
plopping pointlessly into the seas.
You just weren’t that into me
in any possible way.

It was so frustrating:
I could taste the temptation of you
but you refused to see
what we could be
even as possibility.
It just wasn’t something to conceive.

Like Dylan
I wanted to make you feel my love
but I wasn’t monster enough
to know how.
I understood the impulse.
I still can feel the desire.
I continue to taste that temptation.

And the absence of you
is not the greatest loss I’ve ever experienced
There are other spirits in the rooms I enter
but when I think of you
there remains a specter
of the you I yearned to meet
and the ghost of the friendship
we never ever had.

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