Empty Pocket(s)  Unrequited Boogaloo

 


Amidst this terrific torment of torturous,
 baffling prevarication, insinuations of sainthood
growing growing in the ground, the sacred ground,
(& so blessed it be),
                                  I called out for your love, but
miles and decades worked against it, as my best
irrationality was way short of my best trauma,
stumblin' over the best importance that a foot
would ever be likely to find.
                                                I never asked for your
admiration, though it was bound to be a topic at
some remote confluence of rivers way, far away.

When you speak to me in dream-talk, it sounds
as if i weren't even present enough to know which
end was being ruined.
                                      And so ruined I am, (from
either end), as life progresses to it's folly, and I'll
never know if you ever loved me in those brief
moments, now that we'll never chance to be
                                                                           again.


rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrruuuuuuuuuuuut,uuuuuuuuuu
2019dkzkdankozakpoomistrygoneawry(wit Pixtrs)