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Image for the poem adrift

adrift



are you sick of me, Lorraine?
and Cassidy, am I so easily replaceable?
Perdita, with the burning lips,
whose mouth are you branding now?

I address you by pseudonyms,
since you have friends here.
not to mention lovers –
and I will not; it would hurt me.

which of you regaled me with your
inquisitories regarding the distant
origins of love, how it came to be?
and I told you this:

–  such words were spoken epochs past
    the tones were hushed
    when man first loved a woman
    and woman blushed  –

I go through periods of love & periods of no love.
when I’m alone & without love, I float in my gondola
in the very near atmosphere, on a zephyr wind.
by chance, a lonely lady catches my approach,

grabs a dangling halyard & pulls me in to the
harbor of her arms. the fault of this is my poetry,
which I freely admit is meant to charm.
she entices me with cunning whispers:

‘visit me’ or ‘take bread with me’ or ‘marry me.’
the purpose of our union is that we may each
be less lonely, & for a brief while I am loved;
or as close as I can get to that burning star.

but poems are frail bindings, & in a
stumbling parade of moments I am
set adrift, with a somber threnody blown
at my tearful eyes, along with a kiss:

‘I do not hold you in my heart,’
she tells me;
‘but I hold you close to my heart.’

and of course, I am devastated –
there is only the heart
everything around it is empty space…



Written by JohnFeddeler
Published
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