When the Sky is Clear
My whole life before this,
I waited for you, perfect,
my other half behind my back,
and every day felt like tomorrow
I’d walk around the bend and meet you.
After the whirlwind (which is far behind me),
I walk away from you, dissolved
are you, was I, and now
I face only the empty sky.
What was the point of being filled with so many
illusions, being made with seventeen eyes,
one inside, another distorting the light?
Why did my body have three extra arms dangling awkwardly?
Why did I know truths I strove to prove but couldn’t see?
And for what was that dream of perfection, consuming desire
that only fell off of me?
I walk away from you now, you illusion,
you dream, more phantom than I had known
this poem: ’bout nothing
love poems: to no one
the pull: imagination
true love: my fabrication
Life is the same as before in round two,
but I have no dreams – there are no such things.
I’m not waiting to find you around the bend,
I am not waiting,
I’m just –