He thought nothing of it
and on that they agreed
since she couldn't let on
they didn't, there being
no poet left in either of them
to deny the lie they let speak
for their attempt on love.
Except she never once had him
past the base of that one part,
that one piece of him without
its accessories, like one book
overdue after she'd borrowed it
from a vast library she had no
occasion or interest to browse
but went ahead and filled in
as best she knew how would fit.
And he was never that into her
any farther than that one part
of him was said by her would fit,
that and no farther was allowed
like one more place he'd've gone
had he reached the border by dark
but got turned back until a later
time that was not in him for a
place that was not any of hers.
But there had been that part
of him that'd reached that far
through her, so they let it try
to call them enough to be
loved, some collision not entirely
as accidental as it appears it was.
And if she was never to have had
more than that one part of him
and if he was not to come through
any more into her, at least they did
for that single random instant meet,
dance, exchange. Act like loving.
So he stood at his edge of that
infinitely high wall he'd made
and hurled his seed wildly out
into a black storm she was said
to've been in, while she angled
down another strange street said
to've been one of his aimlessly
turning a corner toward a light
dimming to the morning weather
and tried not to think too hard
about what the rain tasted like.
Then he figured it was enough to
go on to make the jump, as she
let on it was maybe enough for her
to stick around another night for,
and they lay close enough for sleep
to come against the dark, the void.
And he never did hit the ground.
And she never did take a breath.
But they both needed their excuses,
his for stopping and hers to move on.
And since there had been so little
between them, hardly enough to waste
good word on, I have been asked
to say for them, how they meant nothing
by it, neither bad nor good, only as
much and as far as things can reach
and still leave untouched, unloved.
|
20
Dec
10
Pretty solid grasp of emotion or rather non-emotion that many affairs start off as. There are a great many that turn the corner of nothing into someting bigger than the one parts of themselves. This piece sums of the sadness of wasting time for nothing while sacrificing one of the better parts of self for that same nothing. In fact this work is very gripping in that it is not steeped in the masquerade of actually believing these two or doing anything other than what they are doing. Strong work that leaves one sad. I’d like to invite you by 1markt.wordpress.com sometime.
This one was just brilliant in its structure and delivery…the story you capture of the affair is as perfect as one can get….kudos!
Gee – looks like you may have said it all.
Nice work DW.
M.L.
not so certain i did – this is another one straight out of a dream & i was told what to say & how to say it & i felt like there should’ve been more to it but i’ve been really frustrated with losing so much to this computer crash so i wanted to at least get the gist here & maybe i’ll come back after another night or two of more dreaming if they want to tell me again – but thanks for helping me keep from getting too terribly depressed with the attempt