Apologies for my apologies

  • Math

    I quietly stood as the wind rattled in
    And I turned very little
    For what was a breeze
    When the sky hasn’t fallen or yet to begin
    A decent knowing it’ll
    Just shift in degrees
    And when standing the way I’ve been standing I can’t say the wind has affected the path

    With every new whispering, trivial sound
    Whether given to ebbing
    Or pointless egress
    From a “what could be finished” for “what could be found”
    Do I let it be webbing
    Composed of a guess
    That I know would be better, if blemished, but beautifully built as if bartering longing for last

    And words like forever don’t measure as tall
    When the spaces between it
    Go shrinking away
    So the pieces that mattered are kept, nearly all,
    And I swear that I’ve seen it
    Or will in a day
    When the sun, even setting, is brighter than echoes of light far away in the past

    And how very loving it certainly seems
    As if built of affection
    And careful restraint
    But reality ripples and so do the dreams
    And of course, in correction,
    Do fantasies faint
    And in moments the magic is melting away like an abacus counting what’s left of the day and you finally see it and finally say, “all the things you were giving, or tried to convey… wasn’t love, it was you doing math…”

  • Omissions

    Long ago, I found a vacant field
    A home, dilapidated, on the fiction of a crumbling foundation
    Giving meager thought to if the imagery appealed
    To any message I beheld
    I guess avidity prevailed
    And so I labored all the while just creating for the sake of some creation

    Sowing seeds of negligent regard
    And patching up the windows with an origami curtain of obsession
    Watching as the pillars played politely in the yard
    I made a frame of brittle board
    For all the days that I ignored
    And set it up like it’s a card so I could say that I possess my own possession

    Laboring, I rarely wondered why
    The walls were wearing jackets made of gossamer and old alliteration
    Rested on the windowsill with such a heavy sigh
    As if too weary just to say
    “It’s still the first of yesterday
    And every step is imitating all the ones I only took through imitation”

    Walking, finally, far enough afield
    Where shores, however reaching, never spoke of inhibition
    I saw, not far behind me, like a scab I poorly peeled
    No single signal that compelled
    But rather reasons rarely quelled
    As, in response, am I omitting all the parts I had to pare so I could keep what I omit from my omissions

  • Continue

    I find a fitting melody to rob me of the quiet
    In the shallowest peripheral of allegories slipping
    Where the stone is smooth as silk and all the instruments are chipping
    In the slow pursuit of something half as meaningful as what it cost to buy it

    But long ago I found, if only doing so in folly,
    The perimeter of morning where the evening is resentful
    And the lips that let me rise are, to my eyes, now only lent wool
    That remains as dying needles from the pine that’s turning gray beneath the holly

    And hoping it was mistletoe that hovered there above me
    I recalled, as if a metaphor that only meant forgetting,
    There were reasons for a second set of glasses for the setting
    That extended, momentarily, beyond the limits lent to being lovely

    But somberness was severed from the damages within you
    Like a ribbon that was stolen from a present undelivered
    For the arrows giving love and lacking pain are cruelly quivered
    And the dust upon the feathers and the clouds within the sky seem to imply that this is how it must continue