I haven't written very many love poems. Rather, I've written poems about love--or, even more accurately, poems about the emotionat state you find yourself in when you're in love with someone who isn't in love with you and, in most cases, would never have been under the best of circumstances. This is one of those poems, written more about me and my mind than about the woman in question, who thought I was a perfectly nice guy, but...there's always a "but," isn't there?
I just don't have the grape
of things today or even
yesterday but maybe three
weeks from next Tuesday
I will 'cause the strangest
stuff always happens on
Tuesdays like solar eclipses
or best friends getting
canned from jobs they loathe
or hip-tripping stuntman
backwards right into a
someone you want/need/can't
grieve about before or after
or during the feather of
memories just being built
with flickered eyes, light
woven fingerfalls applied just
before sunrise and circling
words 'round each other like
"Your collar's messed up" or
"I missed you last night" or
"I think about your mother
every time I make ice."
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