When I wrote that poem
I was thinking about you
– but I’m not anymore.
It’s strange.
It was just a few days ago
but the heart,
she is a fickle funky funster,
is she not?

Whatever went on in my extremities
to inspire me so
all those days ago
seems to have wandered away,
I guess.

I’m experiencing something else today
and what I’m writing now
is no longer about you.

…with some notable exceptions.